The Herald of Dragons
by Cirex Review
Summary: A turn of events changes the fates of more than one continent. Dragons raised in Thedas will one day return to their homeland to take back what is theirs... provided their guardian, the famed Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste lets them that is...
1. Chapter 1

_Under her father's bed, dressed in a nightshirt just her size, hiding, hiding from the men who came to kill them all. The door broke down, she could see boots, and the harsh voices of men. She covers her mouth, to hold in the whimpers, and silently prays to the Seven that they don't hear her; that they go go away, that they don't look under the bed, and that they don't find mother and baby Egg either. She wishes that Balerion was here. She wishes that Balerion could turn into a real dragon, and chase away all the bad men with fire._

_He looks under the bed. Face like a pig, cruel, wicked and smiling. He grabs her arm, and pulls her out. She's screaming, so very loud, screaming for mother, guards, even father, though everyone says that he's dead. He raises the dagger, and brings it down. Warm blood is sprayed over her face._

_Except it's not her blood. It's the cruel man's. A dagger tip pokes from the front of his throat._

_It is a ghost._

_A ghost killed him._

_She sees it!_

_It's pale, so very pale, like it's sick; like her mother after she had Egg, but worse. It stabbed the cruel man. It has daggers in each hand, and is covered in blood. It's been killing the cruel man's friends. _

_It pulls out it's dagger from the cruel man's throat, and prys her loose from a dead man's grasp. She's screaming, crying._

_Oh Seven!_

_She didn't want the cruel man to hurt her, but she doesn't want to be left alone with a ghost either!_

_It raises a hand to her head. Is this it? Has it come to take her away?_

_It opened it's mouth. It says a single word;_

_'Forget.'_

* * *

"Wake up little one. It's time to wake up..."

Little Rhaenys Targaryen opened her eyes, meeting the gaze of her mother, Elia of Dorne.

Her head was resting in her mother's lap, and Rhaenys also saw that mother was holding Baby Egg as well.

"Mother?" Rhaenys asked, warily, "Are we safe?"

"Yes little one." Elia answered, tears forming in her eyes, "We are safe."

Rhaenys sat up and took in her surroundings. They were in a cramped wooden room, with a solitary small bed, and a single wooden door.

The whole room was rocking back and forth, and Rhaenys could hear the faint sound of the ocean outside the wooden walls.

"Where are we mother? Are we in the Holdfast?"

"No Rhaenys." Elia replied, "We are on a ship. A ship that is taking us far away from the Keep, the men who came to hurt us, and... and your Grandfather."

"How did we get here Mother?" Rhaenys asked as she turned to look up at Elia, "Last thing I remember was hiding under my bed when I heard the shouts, and then... and then..."

Elia wrapped her free hand around Rhaenys' head and embraced her daughter, "Shush little one. They can't hurt us now. I now it was terrible, but we are _safe_ now. What happened to you-"

"But mother," Rhaenys interrupted, "I don't remember what happened after I hid under the bed."

For a moment Elia said nothing, "Perhaps that is for the best then child."

A gentle knock came from outside the door, "Princess Elia, are you decent? May I come in?"

"Yes, please come in." Elia said.

The door opened and in stepped a tall man. He was dressed in black long sleeved shirt, grey pants with leather boots, and a red cape lined with silver. He had brown eyes, black hair, and a short beard, and looked to be about thirty years of age. An ornate dagger with a golden sun on it's handle hung from his belt, as well as a bastard sword, styled with a dragon motif.

"I'm sorry to disturb you Princess Elia, but the time has come for us to leave this vessel."

"We are making land so soon Lord Maxwell?" Elia asked, concerned, "We can not be very far from the coast."

Maxwell shook his head, "We're not docking, we are transferring to another ship, one of mine to be exact. We had to 'confiscate' the ship we are now on from her original owner in order to get you out of King's Landing, but it's sparsely supplied, and will run out _long_ before we reach our destination. In about an hour we'll be boarding my ship, the _Vinsomer._ She'll be much larger than the tub we're on now, and we will be joined by a half dozen escort ships. The _Vinsomer_ take us the rest of the way. It has enough supplies and fresh water to last for six months, and a larger cabin for you and your children. We're going through the Stepstones, so expect pirate attacks. Don't worry, my men and I shall protect you."

"Where is our destination exactly Lord Maxwell?" Elia asked with a raised eyebrow. "Are we going to Dorne, with my brother Doran?"

"No Princess. I fear there is no where on Westeros that is safe for you, or your children. Robert or Tywin will stop at nothing until you and your children are no longer a threat."

"Essos then? To Tyrosh?" Elia asked again.

"No, assassins could just as easily reach you there. We go far away; to a place beyond the reach of your children's enemies.

"We go my homeland; to Thedas."

"I... I see." Elia said, slowly nodding her head before looking Lord Maxwell in the eye, "We are in your debt your Lordship. Thank you for saving me and my children."

Maxwell bowed his head, "I am sorry that I could not do more for you Princess."

His brown eyes settled on Rhaenys, and he gave her a warm smile, "I see the little Princess is finally awake now."

Elia looked at her daughter and smiled, "Yes, she is. Rhaenys, you remember Lord Maxwell Trevelyan do you not? He's my friend."

Rhaenys nodded, "I remember him mother." she looked at Maxwell, "Thank you for saving us!"

Maxwell smiled, "It was my pleasure Princess Rhaenys."

* * *

"Come on people, we don't have long before we need to ship out for 'Thedas' Edge', and I don't want to be here before the Rebel ships come looking for us." Maxwell shouted on the deck of the _Vinsomer_ as his crew scurried all around him, carrying the meager supplies from the ship that Elia and her children were on just minutes ago.

Elia was sitting on a bench, holding Aegon and keeping a hand on Rhaenys' (who was sitting next to her) shoulder.

When the _Vinsomer_ pulled up alongside their starboard Elia saw that she was indeed a much larger ship; almost double in size, painted in black, and had a design entirely unlike any Elia had seen before.

Elia noticed several men and women carrying staffs and dressed in robes among the group that Maxwell had brought with him. She remembered several of them were part of the group that helped her and her children escape Maegar's Holdfast before Lannister soldiers could kill kill them.

She found it more than little curious that they wore no swords, or any kind of weapon for that matter.

"Lord Trevelyan!" one of the staff bearing robed men called to Maxwell. He was young, maybe in his mid twenties, and had long blonde hair and a short beard to match.

"The last of your party and the last of the cargo is on board the _Vinsomer_. Shall we sink the ship we arrived on now?"

"Leave no trace Enchanter." Maxwell said before walking over to Elia.

"You and your children will want to watch this your Grace. Few things are as impressive as watching mages work their magic."

"'Magic your Lordship?" Elia asked skeptically as she stood up, taking Rhaenys by the hand and followed Maxwell over to the edge of the deck, "Surely you jest. The pyromancers and charlatan wizards that my good-father Aerys was fond of could burn things as well, but I wouldn't call it magic. What will your mages do? Throw pots of wildfire at it?"

Maxwell smiled, "Just wait and see your Grace."

He nodded at the man he had addressed as 'Enchanter.' Enchanter raised his right hand, and motioned for the other men and women wearing robes and carrying staves to stand with him. Six men and seven women stood at the railings of the ship, gazing out on the ship that had brought them out of King's Landing.

"Mages!" Enchanter commanded, "Burn it!"

Moving as one, each mage raised their right hand. To Elia and Rhaenys' amazement fire emerged from their fingertips and shot at the smaller ship, setting the deck, sails, and other parts of the vessel aflame.

Enchanter raised his staff, and, as if he was gathering energy to him, conjured a giant fire ball in front of him, which then grew larger and larger with each passing second. He then released it, and the fireball shot forward and down at the other ship, exploding when it hit the deck, and setting even more of it on fire.

"Alright, I think that's enough. Good work Enchanter, she'll sink soon now." Maxwell said, and the mages ceased their bombardment of the smaller ship.

Enchanter bowed to Maxwell before he left, the other mages following close behind. Maxwell turned and smiled at the stunned Elia and Rhaenys.

"We do not have charlatan wizards in Thedas. We have real magic."

* * *

It was nighttime now, and the only lights came from either the moon and stars, or from the torches lit by the sailors.

Rhaenys, sitting on a crate, looked out over the railing of the ship to the northwest; the direction of King's Landing and Dragonstone, where her life had been.

Lord Maxwell had given them a new room; much larger than the one she had woken up on. There was a big bed as well, large a comfortable. Mother was asleep on it now, holding baby Egg tight least he be pried from her like so much else had these past few weeks.

It was all gone now. He rooms, her clothes, her friends, her toys. She thought of her old life, and found herself missing her rooms, her friends, her toys, and her dresses.

But most of all, she missed her cat, Balerion. She prayed to the Seven that he was all right.

Everything she had known was lost to her. Back in the Holdfast she had overheard the servants talk how it was her father's fault; how if he hadn't abducted the Stark girl, the war wouldn't have happened. Rhaenys couldn't believe that her father would do such a thing; kidnap a girl, and cause a war that got him killed, and would have gotten mother, and her, and Baby Egg killed with him.

'Did father even care about us, when he did what he did?' Rhaenys thought to herself, 'Was he thinking of us when he took the Stark girl?'

"Your father loved very much Rhaenys."

Rhaenys almost jumped out of her skin when she heard the voice. Quickly, she turned around, and came face to face with a pale skinned boy.

He looked sick, but not scary, and he wore a odd wide brimmed hat. He was dressed in clothes that were even odder.

"He loved you, even though he never said it out loud." the boy said, "You, and Egg, and your mother were in his thoughts. _'A dragon must have three heads.'_ He did what he did for you, though what he did didn't make sense, and he got a lot of people hurt. His intentions were good though."

"I..." Rhaenys said, "Thank you for your kind words Sir..."

"Cole." the boy said, "My name is Cole, and you don't have to call me sir. I'm not a knight."

"Cole..." Rhaenys whispered under her breath.

'Cole' smiled, "Yes, Cole. I help the hurt when I can.

"Here." he said, and he raised both hands to the brim of his hat and took it off.

Curled up on his head was a black cat. It raised it's head and looked at Rhaenys before immediately jumping off Cole and landing in Rhaenys' lap.

"It's- it's-" Rhaenys stuttered as the cat purred and rubbed it's head against her.

"It's Balerion!" Cole exclaimed as he put his hat back on his head, "I knew you would be lonely without him, so I got him for you out of Maegor's Holdfast."

"Balerion!" Rhaeny's exclaimed as she hugged the cat close, petting the cat's head before freezing.

"What happened to his ear?" she exclaimed. Balerion was, in fact, missing an ear, and white bandages covered his head.

"I'm sorry," Cole apologized, "Soldiers hurt him. He was trying to protect you, and the hurt him. I dressed his wounds. The Inquisitor helped. I'm sorry, but I couldn't save his ear."

"It's alright." Rhaenys said as she hugged the cat even tighter. She looked at Cole, "Thank you so much Cole. You have no idea how happy this makes me!"

"Oh, I may have an idea." Cole said with a smile. WIthout another word, he walked off, leaving Rhaenys alone with her cat.

* * *

"That was very good thing of you to do Cole." Maxwell said as he observed Rhaenys and Balerion from the shadows.

"I am Compassion Inquisitor, I help the hurt, you know that." Cole said as he sat down next to Maxwell.

"I know Cole, I know. Still it is remarkable; you carrying around that wounded cat in your shirt all throughout the fighting, just to make a lonely girl who's lost everything fell a little less lonely. You, my fiend, plan far in advance."

"I try Inquisitor." Cole replied.

"I noticed that when you were speaking to Rhaenys, you refered to me as 'Inquisitor' like you're doing now."

"I did?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot that I'm not supposed to over here."

"It's alright Cole. Elia and her children are going to have to find out sooner or later. I'll tell them tomorrow. For now, they need rest. We all do."

"I don't." Cole said, and Maxwell chuckled.


	2. Chapter 2

"So let me get this straight..." Blackwall said as he nursed a mug of ale, "You break into the Holdfast, kill at least two dozen men, abscond with Rhaegar's wife and children, and then you got the mages to _burn _that part of the castle so as to cover your tracks, all the while the Lannister army is sacking the city. Then you steal a random boat, and just sail out out Blackwater Bay like nobody's business. That about right Inquisitor?"

"That's about right." Maxwell said with a smirk.

About a half hour ago the _Vinsomer_ had met up with it's escort ships; a half dozen swift caravels, all flying a banner featuring a white horse swimming in a blue sea, with two shores between it; the symbol of the Amaranthine-Sunset Trade Company. On the lead caravel was Blackwall, a member of Maxwell's Inner Circle. Blackwall had come aboard with the other captains so they could receive their marching (sailing?) orders from their Inquisitor. After this Blackwall had stayed behind in Maxwell's cabin, where they were catching up.

"Well then I'm sorry that I wasn't there to see it!" Blackwall exclaimed, and he drained the mug in one gulp, "It sounds like you could have used me, or any of the old crew there with you."

"My chosen agents and I were more than sufficient Blackwall. The only real challenge was Ser Gregor Clegane, who fell all the same."

"Clegane..." Blackwall said with a snarl, "I never liked that man. He was nothing more than a violent brute, entirely undeserving of knighthood. Now I'm really sorry that I wasn't there; I would have liked the chance to end his miserable existence myself."

"What's done is done Blackwall. Clegane is dead, along with his fellows, and their bodies are probably burnt to a crisp by now, along with at least half of the Holdfast. No point in spitting venom at a dead man."

"Of course you're right. Tell me though," Blackwall said, leaning forward on his chair, "When are you going to help them reclaim their metal chair?"

"By 'them' I assume you refer to Elia and her children?"

"Of course that's whom I refer to. A Princess of Dorne, and her children by Rhaegar Targaryen. You, the Inquisitor, rescued them, investing Inquisition resources, and slaying more than a few Westerosi in this endeavor. I understand that you're a friend of Princess Elia's, but that alone can't be it. Why else would you go to such lengths unless you mean to help them reclaim the Iron Throne?"

"Maybe one day Blackwall, but not today, tomorrow, or even next year." Maxwell replied, "The Inquisition doesn't have the manpower on this side of the world to fight a war against half of Westeros. Mace Tyrell will most likely throw his lot in with Baratheon when he receives the news that King's Landing has fallen, the Mad King is dead, and Princess Elia and her children all burned to death in the Holdfast. That leaves only the Martells, and you and I both know that they could give a spear to every Dornishman and still not have enough fighting strength to win against the combined armies of the Stormlands, the North, the Vale, the Riverlands, and now the Westerlands and eventually the Reach. No, Dorne will bend the knee to Robert Baratheon as well.

"Besides," Maxwell said as he leaned back in his chair, "I'm not entirely convinced that Westeros needs the Targaryens as their kings. Aerys was a madman in every meaning of the word; he lost the right to be king when he killed those Starks. We will see what kind of king Robert Baratheon will make. If he is a good king, we will do business with him like we did Aerys. If he or his heirs are unworthy of being king then... we'll have a replacement."

"You play a long game Inquisitor. One could mistake you for being Orlesian." Blackwall said, "So the Iron Throne isn't a priority at the moment, that's fine, but what do you intend to do with them in the meantime?"

"I'll take them to Skyhold. Elia will want for nothing, and her children will grow up safe and happy. I'll instill good traits and virtues in them. If the day comes that the Baratheons prove unworthy of kingship then I'll put Aegon VI on the Iron Throne. But until that day comes, they'll live in Thedas."

"Speaking of Thedas Inquisitor, just how much have you told Elia and her wee ones about _how _we're going to get there?"

"They know that we're sailing there."

"Saying that we're sailing to Thedas is like saying that a lit match is the same as a bonfire."

"Aptly put."

"You'll have to tell them before we reach 'The Edge'. It's not like you can just confine the lass and her little ones to that fancy cabin you gave them so they don't see _it_. They'll _feel _it. We all feel it whenever we go through. Feel it in our gut, no matter how far below deck we are. No use hiding it. Besides, from what you told me they've already seen Rion and his apprentices light up that wreck you 'borrowed' from King's Landing. Hopefully it won't come as _too _much of a shock."

"I intend to tell them when we get to the Edgefort Blackwall."

"I'll hold you to it Inquisitor." Blackwall said as he leaned back in his chair, "Since they don't know how we're getting there, is it safe to assume that Elia, and by extension the rest of Westeros, don't know who we really are?"

"You're correct Blackwall." Maxwell admitted, "As far as they know, we're simply the Amaranthine-Sunset Trading Company, making our fortune from carrying and selling wares from Thedas to Westeros and back. They don't know about the Inquisition, or who I really am yet, let alone that I'm the Herald."

Blackwall grunted, "You'll probably want to tell them that to. Wouldn't do for them to wonder why everyone's bowing to you and asking for blessings when we reach Ostwick."

* * *

Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, and Warden of the West, was not a happy man.

Mad King Aerys was dead, slain by one of his own Kingsguard, Jaime Lannister, Tywin's eldest son. Rhaegar was dead as well, killed on the Trident by Robert Baratheon. King's Landing was under the control of Tywin's army, and the remains of the Targaryen armies were standing down across the Seven Kingdoms. There was only one problem;

Five Targaryens were still unaccounted for.

The pregnant Queen Rhaella was missing, along with her son Viserys. Rumor had it that they had fled to the Targaryen's ancient seat of Dragonstone. Princess Elia Martell, wife of Rhaegar and mother of his two children, was also missing, despite all intelligence saying that they were still in Maegor's Holdfast.

Of course, the Holdfast _did _go up in flames. After three hours of fighting the fires Tywin's men finally put it out, and were able to search for Rhaegar's family, or their burnt bodies.

They found nothing except the charred bodies of Lannister men, including a barely recognizable and Ser Lorch (though miraculously, Gregor Clegane lived, albeit horribly burned, barely breathing, and unlikely to live much longer). Thus Lord Tywin was unable to confirm whether or not Elia and her children were dead or not.

Now Tywin had to deal with Lord Stark, who had arrived shortly afterward with the Northern host, and Tywin didn't have as large a token of fealty to Robert as he had initially wanted.

The death of Aerys would no doubt please Baratheon greatly, but Rhaegar's children still on the loose... that may damper his gratitude towards the Lannister contribution.

* * *

"My Lord Lannister!"

Tywin looked up from his desk and set his gaze upon the hapless page boy. He was in his tent outside King's Landing, which was still burning, studying maps of the Red Keep, Maegor's Holdfast in particular, hoping to divine where Elia and her children had went, all the while cursing Maegor himself for killing the builders of the secret passages in the Keep, so that only he would know them. Needless to say, this made the task of finding the Princess very difficult.

"What is it?" he snapped before turning his attention back to the maps.

The page bowed his head low, "A thousand pardons My Lord, but the Maester told me to update you on Ser Clegane."

"Well? Has he finally died then?"

"Actually, my Lord, he's awake. And he's talking, in full sentences no less!"

Tywin looked at the page. This was surprising news. Clegane should have died from his burns hours ago, and at the most should be screaming bloody murder, not speaking in full sentences. If Clegane was lucid then maybe he might be able to offer an insight as to where Elia and her children went.

"Take me to him at once!"

The page nodded and left the tent, Tywin close on his heels, followed closely by a half dozen guards.


	3. Chapter 3

"Ser Clegane. I hear you're not dead."

Gregor Clegane, know as the "Mountain that Rides," or simply "the Mountain," opened his eyes and looked at his liege lord Tywin Lannister. Gregor was lying on a cot much too small for a man of his size, and his body was covered head to toe with bandages and wrappings, though every now and then one could see the burned skin. They were in a covered tent, and the ground was covered in bloody bandages, while a maester knelt next to Gregor.

"My Lord Tywin," Gregor said, bowing his head (or attempting to), "How may I serve?"

"From what the maesters tell me is that between your wounds, the fire, the smoke, and a number of other details is that you should be dead ten times over. They were ready to hand you over to the Sisters at any moment. Yet here you are, not only alive, but also talking in full sentences."

Tywin began to pace, "This should be impossible. If I were a foolish man, I'd say this was a miracle; a blessing from the Seven. If I were a foolish man I'd say this was incredibly good luck. I am neither, but the hows and whys of your survival are of secondary importance to me now. What _is _important, is that you tell me everything that happened in the Holdfast. _Now_."

Tywin looked at his guards and the maester, "Leave us."

After a quick bow of their heads, they filed out of the tent, leaving Tywin alone with Gregor.

"Start from the beginning," Tywin said, "I gave you the task of infiltrating the Holdfast with Lorch and a dozen others. What happened then?"

"We did as your Lordship bade and scaled the walls. Lorch and I split up, each taking half of our men. I searched the lower levels and he took the top. I found Elia and her son and moved to kill them when I was ambushed."

"By whom?"

Gregor shook his head, "I don't know your Lordship. They wore armor, but no had heraldry or distinguishable markings of any kind. One of them did have a Thedan sword though. It was flaming-"

"That doesn't tell us anything." Tywin interrupted, "There must be somewhere between nine hundred to one thousand Thedan enchanted weapons in the Realm now, and it is safe to assume that there will be more in the years to come. Of these weapons most of them swords. Half the knights in Westeros have a flaming sword, my son Jamie has a flaming sword, Aerys made sure that all his household guard had a flaming sword, Rhaegar had a flaming sword, **I** have a flaming sword, Ned Stark has an _freezing _sword, Robert Baratheon has a warhammer that spits thunder and lightning."

Tywin sighed, "Is there anything else that you can tell me about the men who attacked you, or where Elia and her children have gone?"

Gregor shook his head, "No your Lordship."

"Then we're done here." and with that, Lord Tywin Lannister left Ser Gregor Clegane.

* * *

"I've finished talking with him." Tywin said to the maester outside the tent, "You may continue your ministrations."

"At once my Lord." the maester said, and barely walked a step towards the tent when Tywin grabbed his shoulder.

"Will he ever be able to fight again?" Tywin asked.

"It is too soon to tell your Lordship." the maester replied, "The deep wounds he sustained would kill most lesser men, and the fire that wracked his body burnt the flesh down to the bone in some places. It's truly a miracle that he's alive at all. Right now all we can do is give him milk of the poppy to numb his pain. The rest is up to the Seven."

Tywin said nothing at first. Then he nodded, let go of the maester, and began the walk back to his tent, followed closely by his guards.

* * *

_Starkhaven_

"... and with Wycome under siege, that brings _three _Marcher city-states that have suffered attacks by of the so called "Queen of the Marches" and her "United Marcher Army", all within a month of each other. Needless to say, this is troubling news."

Cullen looked out across the chamber. The nobility of the Free Marches were seated around a very long table in the palace of their host, the Prince of Starkhaven, Sebastian Vael, to discuss the latest threat to their continued existence;

The self styled "Queen of the Marches." No one knew for sure who she was, or where she came from. All that was known is that she was the greatest threat to Marcher independence since the Qunari first landed.

This 'Queen' had incited unrest among the commoners in Ansberg and Wycome, before seizing power in Hercinia, wresting control away from it's Countess. Less than a day later a mob had broken into the Margrave of Ansberg's keep, and hung him from one of his own chandeliers, along with his brothers and eldest son. The leader of the mob then swore fealty to the Queen.

It was then that the Queen had sent heralds to the rest of the Marcher City-States with a single message; submit to her or die screaming. The Duke of Wycome sent her Herald back to Hercinia in pieces. The Queen promptly made Wycome her first target, gathering up her "army," really more of a mob numbering in the tens of thousands, and set out to Wycome, raiding farms and villages along the way to keep her horde fed.

Wycome was currently under siege. At the latest intelligence, she had launched no attack _yet_... but that could easily change in the coming days.

The heads of the most powerful city-states decided that something must be done. Emissaries and leaders from Tantervale, Kirkwall, Ostwick, Markham (the city closest to the Queen's growing 'domain'), and other cities had gathered there in order to create a plan of attack against her. Also in attendance were representatives from the Inquisition, specifically Commander Cullen and his staff.

"What we need to do now," said Sebastian Vael, clad in his iconic white armor, bow strapped to his back, "is raise our armies, march on Wycome and put an end to this 'Queen' before she raises Wycome to the ground and puts it's citizens to the sword."

"No one's debating that Prince Sebastian," said the Teryn of Ostwick, a heavy set man in large armor and a full red beard, mace strapped to his side, "Ostwick stands ready to end her reign."

"I respectfully disagree sirs." said the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale, who came dressed in Orlesian finery, "Is an army really necessary? The only thing holding this band of rabble together is the Queen herself. Should she die then logically her band of killers would implode. I can hire the Antivan Crows to do this. They are very reliable-"

"Like hell they are." Garrett Hawke, Champion and Viscount of Kirkwall interrupted, "The Crows have been trying to kill me for years but I'm not dead. I wouldn't trust them to kill the rats in basement let alone something as delicate as this."

"An assassination could make a martyr out of her." warned the Margrave of Markham, "It could propel her followers to new heights of depravity and violence. A defeat on the battlefield however will break their spirits. The only question is who would lead this coalition force?"

Sebastian spoke up, "I nominate myself. Starkhaven has the largest army in the Free Marches, it makes sense that we lead the coalition."

Immediately cries of disagreement and outrage erupted.

"I'd sooner hand over the keys to my city than march behind a Starkhavener!"

"Tantervale should lead!"

"Markham's the closest to them! We're the most at risk!"

"I won't stand for this!"

"Might as well bring in the Orlesians!"

It was at this point that Commander Cullen began pounding his fist on the table, "Order! We will have order! In the Maker's name stop this childish arguing!"

"Right!" Hawke yelled, "What he said."

Cullen glared at Hawke, muttered 'Typical Marchers' under his breath and waited for the yelling to die down before continuing, "If the thought of becoming subordinate to another City is too much for you to bear, then maybe the Inquisition could take overall command of the allied armies. Is this agreeable to you all?"

There was some general muttering among some of the rulers before the Teryn of Ostwick stood up, "I'll concede to the Inquisition's command."

Cullen let out a sigh of relief, "Thank you Teryn. Now, what about the rest of you?"

Sebastian and Hawke both stood up;

"Starkhaven concedes to the Inquisition command."

"Yes yes, so does Kirkwall."

Cullen nodded at them and turned to the rest of the rulers, "Three cities have agreed to this. I would have your answers as well."

* * *

"Shouting down a room full of Marcher Lords. Wish I could do that more often, but alas, as a Viscount I'm expected to maintain an air of... dignity! Yes, that's the word."

Cullen, Hawke, and Sebastian were sitting in one of the palace's lounges. Hawke was already drinking heavily while Cullen and Sebastian abstained.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to this life," Hawke said as he drained his second tankard of ale, "I fear that my friends may no longer recognize me after I become a 'dignified' noble."

"Don't worry Hawke, no one here would mistake you for a _dignified _noble." Cullen said with a smirk on his face.

"Ooo, good one Cullen." Hawke said sarcastically, "Good to know that all your time with the Inquisition gave you a sense of humor."

"Speaking of the Inquisition," Sebastian interrupted, "Cullen, I assume that you'll be the commander of this coalition?"

"You assume correctly Prince." Cullen replied, "With Inquisitor Trevelyan's continued absence overall command of the Inquisition's armies falls to me."

"How many years has it been since he left us for what's-it-called? Westeros?" Hawke asked.

"Three years Hawke." Cullen answered, "The Inquisitor has been on business in Westeros for three years."

"Forgotten all about ol Thedas hasn't he? Can't say I blame him. It has been five years after defeating Corypheus, and almost singlehandedly reestablishing order. After all that, this continent seems a bit dull by comparison. Adventuring in another world sounds exciting though. Maybe I should abdicate Kirkwall and take Isabela to see the new world. Perfect honeymoon if you ask me."

"Hawke, there is no way that we're letting you through that portal so you can go gallivanting off in Westeros. Knowing you you'd cause _another _war."

"Hey! I thought we agreed not to point fingers in regards to the mage rebellion. Unless those fingers are pointed at Meredith's statue/corpse thing. In which case that's okay. By the way, it's been almost ten years, and _still_, no one's brave enough to poke Meredith."

Cullen rolled his eyes. Then there was a knock at the door.

"Enter." Sebastian called out. An elven servant opened the door and walked over to Cullen before holding out a scroll;

"Message for you Commander. Urgent."

Wordlessly Cullen took the scroll and unfurled it, his eyes widening as he read the inscriptions.

"Good news?" Hawke asked, half jokingly, half hopefully, "I do hope it's good news."

"For once Hawke, it is." Cullen said smiling.

"In about two weeks time the Herald of Andraste will land in Ostwick."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Warning! Spoilers for Dragon Age Inquisition!**_

The following is a general report on the world state of Thedas at the time 'Herald of Dragons' begins.

_Warden-Commander Aedan Cousland of Highever, Warrior, Sword and Shield, Champion Specialization_

DA:O  
Recruited all possible companions, and completed all companion quests  
Romanced Morrigan  
Freed Connor from the desire demon at Redcliffe Castle  
Saved the mages at the Circle Tower  
Ended the curse of the werewolves in the Brecilian Forest  
Sided with Caridan at the Anvil of the Void  
Made Bhelen King of Orzamarr  
Killed High Dragon  
Did not corrupt the Urn of Sacred Ashes  
Sided with Avernus at Soldier's Peak  
Escaped Fort Drakon  
Killed Loghain  
Agreed to the Dark Ritual  
Made Alistair King of Ferelden, married to Anora

DA:A  
Recruited all possible companions, and completed all possible companion quests  
Had the longsword 'Vigilance' forged  
Saved the City of Amaranthine  
Sided with the Architect

Went through the Eluvian with Morrigan

_Champion Garrett Hawke of Kirkwall, formerly of Lothering, Mage, Force Mage Specialization_

DA:II  
Snarky  
Bethany died  
Joined the Smugglers  
Recruited all possible companions, and completed all companion quests  
Romanced Isabela  
Took Carver into the Deep Roads  
Carver becomes a Grey Warden  
Tried to keep the peace between Kirkwall and the Qunari  
Killed the Arishok  
Did not help Anders complete his bomb  
Killed Anders  
Sided with Mages

Legacy:  
Sided with Larius

Mark of the Assassin:  
Choose not to help Tallis (for all the good it does you)

_Inquisitor Maxwell Trevelyan of Ostwick, Warrior, Two Handed, Templar Specialization_

Recruited all companions, completed all Inner Circle Quests  
Romanced Cassandra  
Conscripted Templar Order at Therinfal Redoubt  
Spared Wardens at Adamant  
Stroud was lost in the Fade  
Allied with Wardens  
Had Florianne arrested  
Brokered a truce between Celene, Gaspard, and Briala  
Allied with Abelas  
Spared Calpurnia  
Morrigan drank from the Well of Sorrows  
Cassandra becomes Divine Victoria (end of relationship)


	5. Chapter 5

"My Lord Trevelyan?" a voice said through the closed door, followed a series of swift knocks.

Maxwell looked up from the cyvasse game he was playing with Elia. They were in his cabin, along with her children. Rhaenys was admiring the tapestries while Aegon slept in his crib.

"Yes, what is it?" Maxwell asked.

"Pardon me your Worship, but the lookouts have caught sight of 'The World's Edge.' We'll be landing there shortly."

"Thank you, that will be all." Maxwell said with a wave of his hand.

"Well your Grace," he said to Elia, "We're at the halfway point of our journey. Once we dock and resupply at the Edgefort we can be on our way to Thedas."

"That is good news." Elia replied and moved one of her elephants, "As comfortable as the cabin you've provided us, I miss the feeling of solid ground under my feet."

"A sentiment that I share your Grace. There are some things that I must tell you though; critical information about my homeland."

Elua leaned back in her chair, "By all means Lord Maxwell. I'm always fascinated when you tell me about Thedas."

"It's less about Thedas and more about my... business."

"Oh? Just your business then? Well, go one then; tell me more about the Amaranthine-Sunset Sea Trading Company."

"Alright then." Maxwell said as he leaned forward, hands clasped together, "First off, the Amarantine-Sunset Sea Trading Company is a front."

"A front? A front for what?"

"For the Inquisition. My real organization. The Company's real alright; it's just a branch that handles the trade between Thedas and Westeros."

"I don't understand," Elia said with a perplexed look on her face, "Why have a front organization in the first place?"

"Your father-in-law mostly." Maxwell said bluntly, "He was paranoid, delusional, and murderously sadistic. Do you really think he would have taken kindly to a group calling itself 'the Inquisition' on his shores?"

"No, probably not." Elia replied, "But when your first ship landed in Lannisport they introduced themselves as your front, and it was another two months before you were granted an audience with the King. How could you have possibly known that Aerys was mad then?"

"An Iron Islander ship tried to rob us." Maxwell said, "They failed. We interrogated the survivors. Turns out even the lowliest Ironborn reaver knows that Aerys was mad."

"Hmm." Elia looked at the cyvasse board, "I suppose that makes a certain degree of sense. Fine. So, what is it that your Inquisition does?"

"We're essentially keepers of the peace. Our diplomats keep conflict from breaking out, our spies roots out threats, and if need be, our armies crush them. We're also a very young organization. We were founded five years ago in response to a world gone mad. Since then I can say without ego that we are the most powerful organization on the continent."

"I see." Elia said, thoughtful look on her face, "And what station do you occupy in this 'Inquisition' of yours?"

"I'm the Inquisitor, the supreme leader of the Inquisition. On paper that means I lead it's armies, dispatch our agents, and meet with kings and empresses. In reality, I spend most of my time with three or so companions, where we then walk through monster infested dungeons, fight bandits who are stupid enough to attack me, and generally juggle dozens of social engagements a month. Most of my job involves going from one trouble spot to another, putting out fires, and making sure that everyone plays nice.

"It is _tiring _work, and truth be told, these last three years here in Westeros was my holiday, and it'll probably be another ten years before I get my next one."

"A holiday that has you infiltrating a hostile keep, and fighting your way through Lannister men. It seems that your work found it's way back to you." Elia said with a chuckle.

"Don't I know it." Maxwell grumbled, "On the bright side however, I did make a fortune selling enchanted weapons or _enchanting _weapons to half the knights in Westeros. And I did manage to get you and your children out of the Red Keep before... something happened. All in all, I'd say this holiday wasn't a complete loss."

* * *

"There it is, the Edgefort." Maxwell said to Elia as he leaned on the side of the _Vinsomer_, pointing at the island fort.

Elia looked at the direction he was pointing. What Maxwell called 'The Edgefort' was a stone fortress on an good sized island, which the Inquisition had named "The World's Edge'. It had four towers, and inner keep, and tall walls. It was lightly manned, and it flew the colors of the Amaranthine-Sunset Sea Trading Company. Built on grey rocks, the fort guarded a lagoon that, curiously enough, had a large arch that emerged from the water, went up for a good seventy feet, and then came down again into the lagoon. The arch was large enough that four _Vinsomers _could pass through it side by side and barely scratch the arch. The stone the arch was made out of was covered in ancient murals, depicting sea serpents. In fact, the arch itself was carved so that it looked like the spines of a sea serpent.

Elia took a closer look at the arch and realized something; the space between the arch was reflective. It wasn't an arch at all. It was a giant mirror! It was, however, unlike any mirror she had seen before.

"What is that large mirror coming out of the water?"

"That, your Grace, is what we Thedosians call an _Eluvian_. Constructed long ago by the Elves of Arlathan, it is a portal... between worlds."

"Between- do you expect me to believe that Lord Maxwell?"

"No, not really. Physical proof is far more convincing than words after all."

The Vinsomer sailed right into the lagoon, heading directly to the Eluvian, not diverting course, and that was when Elia began to get worried.

"In the name of the Seven Maxwell, stop the ship! You'll hit the glass and sink us!"

"Have faith your Grace. I didn't come all this way just to kill us all now."

When the _Vinsomer's _bowsprit was mere inches from the glass Elia threw up her arms to protect her face; surely this was it.

Instead nothing happened. There was no terrible sound of breaking glass. She lowered her arms and saw it;

The bowsprit was inside the glass, the area where it entered rippled like water. As the ship kept moving forward, the eluvian kept swallowing more and more, engulfing crates, and crew members alike. Maxwell was smiling at her before he was swallowed as well. Nervously, Elia put her left hand out in front of her, ready to touch the mirror's silver surface-

* * *

And the next thing she saw was Maxwell standing in front of her, still smiling.

"What... what happened?" Elia asked as she looked around, "I feel so very odd. Like a gust of wind blew through the pit of my stomach..."

The ship was in another lagoon, nearly identical to the one they had just been in. There was another fort as well, constructed in the same style as the Edgefort, except it was more heavily manned, and flying a curious banner; that of an eye inside a sunburst, with a flaming sword behind it.

"We are in the lagoon of an island that we call 'The Edge of Thedas' your Grace." Maxwell explained, a smug look on his face, "As for how you're feeling, well that's a side effect of passing through _this _eluvian. Truth be told none of the others made me feel like this." he mumbled the last part before noting the incredibly confused look on Elia's face.

"That is a story for another time though. Congratulations are in order Princess Elia! You're the first Westerosi that we've let come through the portal. In two weeks time we'll reach my homeland."

Maxwell held his arms out, "Welcome to my world Princess Elia. Welcome to _Thedas_."


	6. Chapter 6

_Ostwick_

"There it is your Grace, the dual walled city of Ostwick, my birthplace."

The Vinsomer had finally made it to the Free Marcher city of Ostwick, and solid ground beneath their feet after several long months at sea would wonderful for more than one crewmember.

As she held Aegon and kept Rhaenys (who held Balerion tight to her chest) close, Elia looked across the harbor at the gigantic walls that protected the city from outside attack. They were impressive, but not quite the same level as the walls of King's Landing.

"When we dock, we'll move into a manor owned by the Inquisition." Maxwell explained, "We'll spend a few nights while the ship resupplies. Then we'll set sail for the Terynir of Highever in Ferelden. The rest of the journey to Skyhold is then overland. Without any trouble we should expect to be there within two weeks time."

"And with trouble?" Elia asked.

"With trouble, anywhere between three weeks to a month." Maxwell said, "But you need not concern yourself your Grace, I don't expect any trouble on our journey to Skyhold."

"Lord Maxwell," Rhaenys said, pointing with her finger at the docks, "Who are those people in black armor standing on the dock?"

Maxwell looked at the docks; sure enough there was a six and ten figures in black armor. Squinting his eyes, he could make out a white in in a sunburst design on each of their chests.

"Seekers?" he muttered, "What are they doing here?"

"Do you know them Lord Maxwell?" Elia asked.

"Yes I do. They belong to the Seekers of Truth, an order of men and women who serve Divine Victoria, the head of the Chantry. I told you about the Chantry didn't I?"

Elia nodded, "You did. Why are they here though? To welcome us?"

Maxwell shook his head, "The Seekers are too few in number and too important to be a mere welcoming party. Something must be wrong."

Maxwell noticed the concerned look on Elia's face, "It's me that they want to talk to your Grace. I wouldn't worry about you or your children. Regardless of what happens next, you will be on your way to Skyhold just as planned."

"I hope you are right Lord Maxwell."

* * *

The Vinsomer docked and the gangplank was lowered and Maxwell was the first to depart. Waiting at the other end were the Seekers. At their head was an elven women with black hair and pale skin. She was armed with a longsword whose pommel was engraved with images from the life of Andraste.

"Inquisitor Trevelyan?" the elf asked, "I'm not sure if you remember me, but we've met in the past. I am Sidona Andras, Seeker of Truth and Right Hand of the Divine. Her Holiness, Divine Victoria, is in Ostwick. She wishes to speak with you regarding current events. _Only _you."

"Cassa- I mean, Victoria is in Ostwick?"

"Yes your Worship, and she _suggests _that you come speak to her at once."

"I see." Maxwell said, "Very well, take me to her."

He turned to the Vinsomer "Captain Jonas?" he called out.

"Aye Sir?" came the reply from the ship.

"Have Blackwall round up a few dozen men to take Princess Elia and her children to the manor. Tell him to wait for me there. I have some business with the Divine."

* * *

Seeker Andras led Maxwell through the surprisingly empty streets of Ostwick to the manor house of House Wesec, tenth most powerful family in Ostwick, and supporters of the Chantry.

"Bann Wesec graciously lent Most Holy his manor while he and his family are away on holiday." Andras explained as she opened the front door to the manor, "Many things have changed while you were away Herald. Not all of them good. Or, most of them."

"That sounds ominous." Maxwell supplied as he looked around the manor. It was filled with clerics, servants, and even more Seekers, mostly human men and women, but also a few elves and, most surprisingly, one Qunari.

"It seems that the Seekers are more open with their membership these days." Maxwell observed, "But I doubt that is what Victoria wants to talk about. I get the feeling that whatever it is that she does want talk about has to do with why Ostwick seems to be almost empty."

"That among other things your Worship." Andras replied before opening another door.

"Your Holiness," she called out, "Inquisitor Trevelyan has arrived."

"Good." came the blunt reply, "Send him in, then leave us."

Andras bowed her head, and motioned for Maxwell to step in. He did so, and Andras closed the door.

Divine Victoria was dressed in her signature black robes and hat, as well as a sword at her side. She was tall and as formidable now as she was back when Maxwell had known her as Cassandra Pentaghast back during the early days of the Inquisition.

"Your Holiness." Maxwell said as he bowed his head, "It is good to see you again. It has been a while."

"Three years Inquisitor Trevelyan." Victoria said, "It has been a long time, and I wish that our reunion were under happier circumstances, but that is not to be. We have work to do."

She motioned at one of the couches in the room, "Have a seat, there is much to discuss."

Maxwell walked over to the couch and sit down, Victoria taking grabbing a chair and moving it to directly face him before sitting down herself.

"Your Seeker Andras said that much has changed since I was gone." Maxwell said, "Does it have anything to do with the fact that half of Ostwick is hiding in their homes?"

"Indeed." Victoria replied, "There is trouble in the eastern Free Marches. A women calling herself "Queen of the Marches" has taken over two city states, and is laying siege to a third. She has publicly announced her intent to bring the other Marcher city states into her 'domains.' She has a mob numbering in the tens of thousands which she passes off as an army, and she has used the wealth stolen from Ansberg and Hercinia to bring several sellsword companies under her banner. Every city in the Free Marches fear that they'll be next."

"That's insane!" Maxwell shouted, "How could anyone take over two Marcher cities so quickly?"

"There are those of us who suspect that she's a maleficar, and that she used magic to sway the people of the Marches to her 'cause,' but none of us know for sure."

"If she _is _a maleficar, how could the Chantry let her get away with all this for so long? Isn't that what the Templars are for? For that matter, how could the Inquisition let her take over two cities right from under our noses? These are the Free Marches for Maker's sake, not some backwater like the Kocari Wilds."

Victoria looked at her hands, "Things are more fragile than any of us would like to admit Inquisitor."

"How do you mean?"

"The Templar Order and Circle of Magi have been reformed yes, but both groups are severely undermanned. Corypheus took control of the rebel Circle Mages during the War, and controlled at least half the Templar Order through Red Lyrium. Most of those Templars who remained uncorrupted remain with the Inquisition, save for a few dozen who train the new recruits. We've only just managed to reestablish the Circles in Ferelden and Orlais, but those in the Free Marches, Nevarra, Antiva, and the Anderfals still lay empty save for a handful of mages and Templars."

"What of the Inquisition?" Maxwell asked, "Our agents were everywhere during the Venatori Conflict, including the Free Marches."

Victoria shook her head, "Though she would very much like us all to believe it not even Sister Leliana has eyes and ears in every corner of Thedas. You'll have to take the matter up with her, though the blame shouldn't fall solely on her shoulders."

Maxwell nodded his head, "So, is there a plan to deal with this Queen?"

"There is." Victoria replied, "The remaining cities are gathering their armies under the banner of the Inquisition at Starkhaven. Commander Cullen has taken temporary charge of the coalition, but I want you to relieve him."

"Me?"

"Yes Inquisitor, you." Victoria said with a demanding tone of voice, "You have been in Westeros for three years, and many in Thedas say that you have been neglecting your duties as the leader of the Inquisition in favor of adventuring in a foreign land. There are opportunists who have taken advantage of your absence.

"Factions within Orlais that seek to oust the Inquisition from their borders. Templar and mage holdouts from the Rebellion still fight with one another in corners of the Free Marches. And your extended absence raised the question of who will lead the Inquisition when you are gone. The Qunari are becoming more and more belligerent with each passing year. They look at this unrest in the Free Marches and no doubt see an opportunity."

"These people who think I have neglected my duties... are you one of them Cassandra?"

Victoria said nothing.

Her silence spoke volumes.

"I see..." Maxwell muttered, clasping his hands together, "So, you want me to lead this Marcher alliance to show the world that I back, and that I take my duties to Thedas and the Maker seriously?"

"More or less."

"I understand. You are right of course." Maxwell said, standing up, "I have been away far too long. It's time to go back to work."

He walked over to the door and grabbed the handle before stopping, "I have some guests that I brought with me from Westeros. I'll need to make arrangements to see them safely to Skyhold without me. It shouldn't take more than a day at the very most. When I'm done with that, then I'll ride to Starkhaven to take command."

Cassandra nodded, satisfied, "Do what you need to, but don't take to long. Time is a luxury we don't have."

* * *

_Practice Field, Castle Cousland, Highever_

"... then I said, not if I cut your head off first, you sodder!"

Thunderous laughter broke out among the soldiers. The elven messenger paid them no mind. She had heard the dwarf tell that joke a million times before, and as long as he was here, she'd probably hear him tell it a million more times.

The message she carried bore the seal of the Herald of Andraste, and it's intended recipient was just as, if not equal to him in fame.

Near the training dummies were two sparring humans; one adult clad in blue and silver armor, the other a boy of perhaps fourteen years of age, who dressed in purple and maroon clothes. The boy held the practice sword expertly, demonstrating many long hours of practice.. The man wielded his blade as if it were an extension of his arm. It seemed like no effort went into his swordplay.

"Commander Cousland?" the elf called out. The two sparrers stopped and the man turned around.

He was in his mid-thirties, and had blue eyes and closely shaved brown hair. His face possesed years of experience.

"I have a message for you Commander." the elf said as she held out the message in question, "It's from the Herald."

"So it is." Cousland said as he took the letter, "Thank you, that will be all."

The elf bowed low and left. Cousland opened the letter and read it, a smirk forming on his face.

"What is it father?' the boy asked.

"It's from the Inquisitor. It seems he requires me to hold onto my end of the bargain by escorting his "guests" to Skyhold."

He turned and looked at the boy, "How do you feel about a road trip Kieran?"

"Can mother come as well?" Kieran asked.

"That's up to her, son."


	7. Chapter 7

_Highever Port, Highever, Ferelden_

"Right then your Grace, watch your step, the gangplank's a bit wobbly."

"Thank you Captain." Elia replied as she walked down the plank, holding Aegon in one arm, and holding onto Rhaenys with the other.

Maxwell had to leave them at Ostwick, explaining that a war to the east required his attention. He had promised them safe passage to Skyhold though, and he would deliver. He had informed them that a party of seasoned (and most importantly, trusted) warriors would escort them the rest of the way.

"Mother, why does everything smell like a wet dog?" Rhaenys said as she scrunched her nose.

"I may have an idea..." Elia replied as she saw a pack of dogs run past.

A small group of men and women in amor walked up the docks in their direction. They wore blue and silver armor, each one decorated with a two headed griffon.

"Princess Elia?" the apparent leader, a man with a short black beard and shoulder length black hair, said, "I am Senior Warden Nathaniel Howe. I'm to escort you, your children, and your belongings to Castle Cousland."

He motioned with his arm, "Please, follow me."

"I thank you Warden Howe." Elia said, and did as she was asked. The other soldiers formed a close circle around them as they made their way to the castle.

Maxwell had informed her that the people escorting her to Skyhold were called 'the Grey Wardens,' an independent military order devoted to fighting something called 'darkspawn.' Apparently they could recruit anyone at any time to fight these darkspawn, and Elia's mind instantly drew comparisons to the ancient brotherhood of the Night's Watch. Maxwell said that there were several key differences between the Wardens and the Watch (the _key _being that both men and women could serve the Wardens), but he could think of no better comparison. Elia did not know what the darkspawn were, but suspected they were to the Thedosians what the WIldlings were to the Seven Kingdoms (the North specifically).

Speaking of the North, in several ways Ferelden reminded her of the North. Fereldens dressed plainly, eschewing the fanciful dress she had seen among the nobility of Ostwick, or heard about in Orlais, preferring leathers and furs, much like the North. However, Fereldens were much more personable and friendly compared to the grim Northmen, and perhaps her comparison between the two peoples was an unfair one.

It took about ten minutes of walking before they reached the Castle. The gate was closed, and several guards stood watch.

"Halt! Identify yourself and state your business!" one of them called out.

"Raydrik you daft bastard, you know full well who I am!" Howe shouted back.

"Sorry Nathaniel, but orders are orders." Raydrik said, 'Just tell me your name and state your business."

"Fine then." Howe said in an annoyed tone, "Senior Warden Nathaniel Howe, bringing the guests of Teryn Cousland and Warden-Commander Cousland to the main hall."

"There, was that so hard?" Raydrik asked as he knocked on the gate. A second later, the gate slowly opened.

"Go on in!"

* * *

The great hall was filled with the people of Highever, from the local nobles sworn to the Couslands, wealthy merchants, and the leaders of the Highever Alienage; men and women from all walks of life (as well as a dozen dogs) looked at Elia and her children as they were escorted to the Teryn, Fergus Cousland.

Fergus Cousland stood at the end of the hall, where instead of a throne, there was a great fireplace. Cousland was dressed in high quality leathers and furs, and had shoulder length brown hair and a bread that went down to the bottom of his neck.

Next to the Teryn was a man wearing Grey Warden plate armor. His hair was cut extremely short, and he carried an unusual blade at his side.

"You must be Princess Elia Martell." Fergus said, arms outstretched, "I welcome you to Highever, I am Teyrn Fergus Cousland, but you might have already known that."

He gestured to the Warden standing next to him, "And this quiet one here is my brother Aedan, Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden." Aedan didn't say anything; he just nodded politely.

Elia smiled, "I thank you , Teryn Cousland, for opening your hearth and home to my children and I. If I may, could I ask that you, the Commander, and I speak privately?"

"Of course." Fergus replied, "Please, right this way."

* * *

"I admit, when I heard that the Inquisitor had brought over a 'guest' from Westeros I didn't know what to think." Fergus said as he poured some wine for Elia, "And that he requests that my brother and a dozen of his best Wardens escort this guest back to Skyhold? I must say, this has becoming very interesting."

The three of them sat at a table in a private room. It was decorated with a painted wooden carving of some ancestor of the Couslands fighting in a battle. The fires from the torches were the only source of light.

"We can talk about how this is all so 'interesting' later Fergus." Aedan said, refusing wine, "Right now we must plan our journey to Skyhold, if that is alright with you Princess Elia."

Elia nodded, "Yes, it is. I am eager to end my long journey."

Aedan pulled out a large scroll from his pouch and unfurled it, revealing it to be a map of Ferelden.

"Right now we're here, in Highever City," he said, tapping on the icon representing Highever on the map. He then pointed at the icon representing Skyhold, which just so happened to be in the middle of a _mountain range, _"and here is Skyhold, our ultimate destination, and probably the most securely defended location in Thedas.

"We'll leave tomorrow morning, after breakfast. You and your children will travel in a horsedrawn carriage, while the possessions that you brought with you will be placed in the baggage train behind your carriage. My Wardens and I will then lead you to Skyhold. We'll take the Imperial Highway as close to the Frostbacks as we can, and if we make good time each day, we'll stop at designated inns nightly. Eventually however, the we'll have to leave the highway and travel on rough terrain. Provided we don't run into any trouble on the road, we should manage to reach Skyhold in a week's time. Do you have any questions your Grace?"

"No, the plan appears sound." Elia said, "I thank you for agreeing to Lord Maxwell's request to escort us Skyhold Commander Cousland."

"You're quite welcome Princess." Aedan said as he bowed his head, "Maxwell did a great service to my Order once several years ago. This is how I repay him."

"Well now, with all that out of the way, I must ask," Fergus interrupted, "Did you really come through an eluvian? Come from another world?"

Elia blinked, "How do you know about the eluvian? Lord Maxwell said that it's one of his Inquisition's most closely guarded secrets."

"I know because Aedan told me." Fergus explained, "And Aedan knows because his wife is the foremost expert on eluvians. She was the one who helped the Inquisition control it."

"First, Morrigan isn't _really _my wife." Aedan explained, "We've never actually gotten married."

"Well she might as well be little brother." Fergus replied teasingly, "You do have a son together and you keep no other women."

"She is your paramour then." Elia interjected.

"Paramour your Grace?" Aedan asked.

"In my homeland of Dorne a paramour is the unmarried lover of a noble. It is more than being a mere mistress. A paramor is given a degree of social status, and some are treated as a wife in all but name."

"That sounds like you and Morrigan little brother." Fergus said with a wry smile, "Perhaps you should start using that term. Certainly sounds better than what you use to describe yourselves now."

Aedan grunted, "Back to the eluvian, the Inquisition doesn't actually _control it_. It's more like an open door; one may pass through it, but cannot open and close the door at will. Also, we're not entirely certain about Westeros' position relative to Thedas."

"How do you mean?" Elia asked.

"The eluvians were built by the ancient elves. They built no roads, but the eluvians served as a travel network; the lifelines of their empire. All eluvians are connected. Most lead to other places in Thedas, some go to different worlds entirely. The huge eluvians that the Inquisition uses to travel to Westeros and back... are strange."

"Strange?" Fergus said curiously, "In what way?"

"In that they're only connected to each other, and, as far as Morrigan can tell, not to any of the other, smaller, eluvians. As if they're part of their own, separate network. Morrigan doesn't know why the ancient elves would want to create an eluvian separate from the rest of the network, but it may have to do with their size; what with being large enough for ships to sail through.

"Which brings us to our next point; the position of Westeros to Thedas. Inquisitor Maxwell suspects that our two continents are on separate worlds. There is some evidence to support this; your seasons can last for years, and you have no mages like we do, and the tales of magic Westerosi have say absolutely nothing about demonic possession."

Aedan leaned back in his chair and crossed his finger, "However, some elements of the Inquisition believe that both Westeros and Thedas exist on the same world, and that the eluvians simply exist to cut down on sailing time."

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Elia interrupted, "but what was that about mages and demonic possession?"

* * *

"Balerion! Balerion! Where are you?" Rhaenys called out.

It was nighttime, and the young princess was looking for her cat, who had somehow gotten out of their room and was now wandering the halls. It was up to Rhaenys, of course, to find him and bring him back to her room, before something, like the dogs (they were everywhere!) found him.

She had been searching for fifteen minutes, and by now her short legs were beginning to tire. If she was out for much longer she didn't know if she could find Balerion _and _make it back to room.

She had just entered another hallway when she saw it; a one eared black cat, perched on the helmet of a suit of armor, set out on display. Rhaenys' joy at finding her cat soon turned to horror when she saw what was below him;

A dog. A huge dog, with a short tail, large muscular legs that propped up an even bigger body, and a huge head with an equally large mouth, with teeth the size of her pinky finger.

It was in front of the armor, and every few seconds it barked at Balerion, before getting up on it's hind legs and placing it's front paws on the chestpiece, making sniffing noises as it tried to smell the much smaller cat. Balerion hissed at the beast and swiped at it, but the dog was out of clawrange.

Rhaenys froze; her cat was being attacked by a dog bigger than she was tall, and no one was around to help! Balerion was one of the few things she had left from her life in Westeros, and she couldn't lose him as well! So she did the only thing she could do...

Scream.

"Stay away from my cat!" she yelled at the dog.

The dog turned towards her direction, and tilted it's head when it saw her.

"You leave him alone, right now!" she demanded. She was buying time, hoping that someone, a servant maybe, would hear her voice and come to help her and Balerion.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, picking on a little kitten like that!" she scolded the dog.

The dog responded... by flattening it's ears and whining, shrinking away from her. Balerion took this opportunity and jumped off the helmet ran over to Rhaenys, and leaped into her arms.

Rhaenys started to step away from the dog, when she backed into something solid. She looked up and saw a tall boy staring down at her.

"Now what's going on here?" he asked playfully as he walked over to the dog. The dog stopped whining and ran over to the boy before standing on it's hind legs and began licking his face.

"Down Rabbit, down!" the boy laughed, and the dog did as he was told. The boy then cast his gaze on Rhaenys and a shaken Belerion.

"I apologize, he was just trying to say hello. Unfortunately, Rabbit forgets that not everyone's as big as he is. He still thinks that he's a big puppy, don't you boy?" he said as he wrapped his arms around the dog's neck and kissed it on the head. 'Rabbit' let loose a happy bark.

Rhaenys calmed down considerably. It wasn't a mean dog trying to eat her cat. He was just trying to say hello.

The boy addressed her again, "You're Princess Rhaeneys Targaryen aren't you?"

She nodded, "Yes, I am."

"I thought so." he said as he scratched behind the dog's ears, "My name is Kieran Cousland. My father and I are going to be escorting you and your family to Skyhold tomorrow."

He looked at Rabbit, "Say you're sorry to the Princess and her cat Rabbit."

The dog let loose a confused whine and tilted it's head, "It doesn't matter if you didn't mean it, you still scared them. The only polite thing to do about it is apologize."

The dog walked about halfway to where Rhaenys was standing and let loose a series of short barks.

"That's dogspeak for _I'm sorry_." Kieran explained.

"How does he know what you're saying?" Rhaenys asked as she slowly approached Rabbit, holding out one of her hands. Rabbit closed the rest of the distance and sniffed her hand, before covering it with his large tongue. Rhaenys giggled.

"He knows because he's a Mabari. Mabari aren't just dogs, they're magic dogs. A long time ago, mages created them to have humanlike intelligence They say that a mabari is clever enough to speak, but wise enough not to.

"I'd go on, but it's late, and you, Princess, have to get up early like the rest of us if we want to make good time tomorrow."

Rhaenys nodded and turned around. She started walking, but then stopped suddenly.

"Is something wrong?" Kieran asked.

"I... I don't remember where my room is." Rhaenys admitted.

"Well we can't have you sleeping here in the halls now can we?" Kieran said, 'Let me see if I can't help."

He bent kneeled in front of her and cupped his hands together. To Rhaenys amazement, a small green flamed appeared in them. The flame then took the shape of a butterfly, flapping it's wings. It flew away from Kieran, and went around the corner of the hall, Rhaenys' eyes following it.

"Follow it," Kieran instructed, "and it will lead you to your bed. Do you understand?"

Rhaenys nodded, and dutifully followed it around the corner.

When she was out of sight, Kieran turned his eyes towards the other end of the hall, and smiled.

"I see you Compassion." he said, "Did the Inquisitor send you to keep an eye on them?"

Cole stepped out from behind the suit of armor, "The Inquisitor did." he answered, "Elia is his friend, and he wanted to make sure they were safe. So he sent me. I'm quiet, and no one notices me unless I want them to. I help. I protect."

"I know you do Compassion, it's your nature." Kieran replied.

Cole shook his head, "My name is Cole. Please, call me that."

"Very well then, Cole it is." Kieran let loose a short whistle and Rabbit came to his side.

"How did you know I was there?" Cole asked, "I'm usually very quiet."

Kieran shook his head, "You don't have a _connection _like mine, and _not _have it leave an impact on your... _outlook_."

* * *

He hid behind a pillar, eyes on the Wardens and their "guest." The Wardens were saddling up their mounts, while servants loaded supplies onto the baggage train. The foreign princess and her brats were climbing into the carriage.

At long last, their day had come. He needed to send a messenger bird to the Knight, inform her that their target was leaving Highever for Skyhold.

At long last, justice would be done.


	8. Chapter 8

_Castle Cousland Courtyard, Highever_

A dozen Grey Wardens was not a group to be trifled with. A single Warden was an efficient fighting machine, more than a match for ten men, and a band of twelve Wardens?

There were easier ways to commit suicide.

At least, that's the image that Cousland was hoping to give. He was going to be at the head of the column, clad in his armor, Vigilance at his side, riding his Amaranthine Charger.

His Wardens would either ride on the backs of the more common Ferelden Forders -with one exception-, or hold the drive the carriage, which would carry the Princess and her children, or one of the two supply wagons.

The Princess and her children would be well defended. Kieran, as well as one other, will be in the carriage with her, serving as the last, best line of defense. Kieran's magical talent was great, and growing in leaps and bounds every year. His aptitude no doubt came from his _unique _heritage, though whether it came from his maternal side, or if it was a lingering side effect of the... _essence _he carried for almost ten years, was up for debate.

Cousland saw Princess Elia and her children out of the corner of his eye. She was speaking to an elven servant, no doubt asking when the convoy would get moving. Last night she had asked questions about the nature of magic, mages, and demonic possession. Cousland tried to explain as best he could, but he was no expert in the Fade, and he feared that he may have installed a fear of magic and mages in her. He hoped that she would have no issue with sharing a carriage with his mage son.

"Hey, Commander?" came a loud, boisterous voice from behind him. Cousland didn't even need to turn his head to confirm who it was.

"Need something Oghren?" he asked.

A dwarf in full plate armor, carrying a giant, two handed axe, walked up to him, red bread flashing in the morning sun. This was Oghren, a walking, talking, drinking, -as well as a number of other '-_ings_'- stereotype of how surfacers thought dwarves acted.

"You know sodding well what I need!" Oghren yelled, "I need something to ride!"

"We've been over this before Oghren." Cousland said as he rolled his eyes, "We don't have enough horses after that one Ogre infestation last month, so some of our brother and sister Wardens have to make do with the... _exotic _mounts, at least until Vigil's Keep get's new horses."

Oghren looked confused, "What? No, no, I'm fine with riding the bleeding blighters you got some of us saddled with. The problem is that I can't find the damned thing!"

"How can you not find it, it's huge?" Cousland asked incredulously.

_Castle Cousland Stables_

Oghren's eyes shifted back and forth before he leaned in close to Cousland, "I think it's hiding from me... it's sneaky and clever like that."

Cousland caught whiff of a familiar scent, "Oghren, are you drunk?"

Oghren belched, "Maybe... what of it?"

"Andraste's sake Oghren, it's not even midday!" Cousland exclaimed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

He then looked up, "Kieran!" he called out. A few seconds later Kieran appeared, working his way through the mass of Wardens and servants loading supplies, Rabbit at his heels.

Kieran was dressed in fine leather armor, imported from Antiva city, which was dyed a rich Burgundy color, and at his side he carried an ornate staff.

"What is it father?" he asked.

"I need you to stop whatever it is you're doing and help Oghren find his mount. He... lost it."

"I didn't lose it!" Oghren raged, "It's hiding from me!"

"My mistake." Cousland said blankly, "It's _hiding _from him. The point is that it's big, ugly, and impossible to miss, so finding it shouldn't take you too long-"

A short yet loud scream, coming from the direction of the carriage, cut him off.

"Sounds like Princess Elia found it." Cousland said, as Kieran rushed off to the carriage.

* * *

_A few minutes earlier_

"Warden-Commander Cousland has said that the convoy will be leaving as soon as the last of the supplies have been loaded onto the wagons." the elven servant explained.

Elia nodded her head, "Thank you, that will be all."

The elf bowed and hurried off somewhere, no doubt she had other duties to attend to.

Elia sighed. She was growing weary of traveling; first by ship, now by land. These past few months had been extremely stressful. She shook her head; no, the past few _years _had been a _nightmare_.

Ever since Rhaegar, her husband, had first showed interest in Lyanna Stark, things have gone downhill for her and for her children.

First Rhaegar had shamed her by naming Lyanna as the Queen of Love and Beauty at the Tourney of Harrenhal, back during the Year of the False Spring. Then, in what can only be described as a fit of madness, he had abducted the Stark girl, setting off the chain of events that lead to the largest civil war to hit the Seven Kingdoms since the Dance of the Dragons, almost one hundred and fifty years ago.

Her father-in-law proved himself to be more insane than anyone had thought possible, her husband was dead, killed by Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, and she was now, for all intents and purposes, an exile.

She didn't even know if her brothers, Doran and Oberyn, knew that she lived. She doubted it. _Inquisitor_ Maxwell placed priority on putting as much distance between them and the rebels as possible, even if it meant crossing the Sunset Sea, or even traveling to a whole new whole world. Getting word to her family in Dorne probably wasn't on his agenda.

Ever since Maxwell arrived in King's Landing he had been nothing but a friend to her. He brought her treasures from Thedas, and she in turn took him into her confidence. It was their friendship that helped establish the initial trade between Thedas and Westeros.

Now however, Elia knew the truth about her friend, and wondered just how well she really knew him. He was not just a merchant, that much was plain to see from the first time they met, but a warrior, a leader; one with access to many soldiers and many resources.

Men and resources that could be used to help her children reclaim their birthright... _if_, and it was indeed a large _if_, Maxwell was so inclined. For while Maxwell was her friend, and the rescuer of her children, he was no friend to House Targaryen.

Maxwell had never liked Rhaegar. He had found the Prince of Dragonstone's melancholy to be off putting, and Rhaegar's fascination with prophecy to be one of folly. While he was nothing but polite and courteous to Rhaegar, Maxwell made it clear that they would never be friends. Though her husband had initially tried to bring the Thedosian Lord, and by extension the entirety of the Amaranthine-Sunset Sea Trading Company, into his confidence, Rhaegar eventually returned Maxwell's feelings of dislike, and both men gave each other a wide berth, never interacting with one another unless absolutely necessary.

If the Thedosian's relationship with Rhaegar was frosty, then Maxwell held an even lower opinion of the other Targaryens. He saw that Aerys was mad, and prefered to do business with the Hand of the King, or with the various High Lords of Westeros. Though he never said it out loud, he implied -first during the war and then during the voyage to Thedas- that he thought Rhaegar carried a hint of the Targaryen madness as well.

After everything that had happened, he might not be wrong.

Inquisitor Maxwell Trevelyan rescued Elia's children and herself because they were friends. Friendship might not be enough to motivate Maxwell to put Aegon on the Iron Throne.

Elia looked down at her children; Rhaenys at her side, holding Balerion, and Aegon in her arms. She wondered if maybe, just maybe, they carried a part of the Targaryen madness in them.

She shook her head. No. She couldn't think that. If she did, then any hope of reclaiming the Seven Kingdoms was pointless.

"Excuse me? Your Grace?"

Elia was roused from her thoughts and looked around. She didn't see the one who had addressed her.

"Down here Your Grace." the voice said again, in a bemused tone.

She looked down and saw a dwarf with blonde hair, an unshaven face, and dressed in brown clothes. On his back was a... contraption of some sort.

"Sorry, I forgot that you're not used to seeing dwarves." he said, not even waiting for Elia to address him.

Thedas was indeed full of wonders, Elia thought to herself, for races other than humans roamed the land. In Westeros, a dwarf could vary in height, the proportions of his limbs, and the deformity of other body parts. She had seen Thedosian dwarves, first in Ostwick and then in Highever.

These dwarves were a separate race from humans. They had an old civilization, lived in subterranean cities, had a reputation for being skilled warriors and expert smiths and miners, and produced crafts which were among those brought to Westeros by Thedosian traders. A Thedosian dwarf's head and limbs were proportionate to the rest of his or her body, many possessed great strength, and all of the dwarven men she had seen had a long beard.

This dwarf, however, had no such beard, which made him stand out compared to the rest of his race.

"Varric Tethras, at your service." the dwarf said with an exaggerated bow, "Businessman, storyteller, and occasional marksman. I've been told that I'm going to be one of your guards for the duration of this trip."

"I... see." Elia said, not used to being spoken to with such informality, especially by a stranger, "I welcome the additional protection Ser Tethras."

Varric held up his hands, "Please, just Varric. Ser Tethras was my father." he let loose a small chuckle at his own joke, though it went over Elia's head.

"Mother?" Rhaenys said suddenly, looking past Elia "What's that?" pointing a finger.

Elia looked behind her and came face to face with a monster. She screamed, more out of surprise than fear, grabbed Rhaenys and quickly backed away from the beast.

Varric stepped in between her and the beast, holding up his hands reassuringly, "Calm down, calm down, it's just a nuggalope."

"A what?" Elia asked.

"A nuggalope, more commonly known as a _war nug_.. It's a beast that some folks use as a mount." Varric explained, "It may look ugly, but despite the name, it won't hurt a fly. Also, if we ever run out of provisions on the road, we can eat it. It's smaller nug cousins are a staple of dwarven diet back in Orzammar."

Elia, now much calmer, scanned the creature up and down with her eyes. One thing above all others caught her attention;

"Why does it have hands?"

Indeed, the nuggalope did have hands on it's front legs, and curled them, walking on it's knuckles.

Varric looked at the hands, then at Elia. He looked back at the hands, then back to Elia, "No one knows Princess." he said with a shrug, "Truly, it is a question for the philosophers."

A young man and a dog walked over to the carriage. Elia recognized him as Warden-Commander Cousland's son, Kieran, a mage. She felt her whole body tense up at the sight of his staff. Cousland had told her more about mages last night; more than Maxwell ever did. Specifically, he went into detail on the feared 'abominations,' when a demon possesed a mage. The consequences of such a union brought grave thoughts to her mind. The thought of this boy-mage, Kieran, sitting in the same carriage as her, and her children, was an uncomfortable one.

"Your Grace," Kieran said, bowing his head, "I see you've already met Master Tethras." he looked at the nuggalope, "As well as Senior-Warden Oghren's mount. I'm sorry if it startled you."

"It is of no concern now." Elia said, "Just take the thing away."

Kieran nodded, and grabbed the nuggalope by it's reins, leading it away from the carriage. Elia kept her eyes on the boy's retreating form. She would tolerate his presence in the carriage, for now at least. She would have to learn to deal with mages, and soon.

From what she gathered of past conversations with Maxwell, Skyhold housed more than a few mages within it's walls.

Varric cleared his throat,"Well, I think the convoy is almost ready to move, we might as well get in." he gestured to the carriage "Shall we Your Grace?"

* * *

_The Free Marches_

There were a dozen or so corpses, with nooses around their neck, hanging from the tree. Their faces wore frozen expressions of pain and shock. Most were human men and women, though there was the odd elf, and one dwarf.

A blood stained sign was _nailed _to their chests, most likely when they were still alive, reading "**Death to traitors, long live the Queen**."

Maxwell, atop his Orlesian Courser, gave a low growl. This was the tenth such hangings that he, and the rest of the coalition army, had come across on their march to Wycome. According to the scouts reports, the 'Queen' considered any Marcher who opposed her, or her goals, to be traitors, and punishable by death.

The grisly scene before him was not the largest mass executions that he'd seen in these past few weeks. The Queen had butchered an entire village, which had a population of almost two hundred. Each villager was declared a traitor, with the signs nailed into their chests, and hung from the trees, every man, woman, and child.

Needless to say, some of the soldiers were beginning to lose their nerve. There was some talk among the rank and file of doom awaiting them at Wycome, and that they would all die before the Queen. Though there were no desertions yet, the morale of the army was at an all time low, and that could prove devastating in the long run. That was why Maxwell rode ahead with a select group of men and women to cut down the hanging bodies, and then burn them before the main bulk of the army could see.

"Such a delightful woman 'Her Highness' is." Hawke said as he rode up next to Maxwell, "Acting as if she was already the rightful Queen of the Marches, and hanging everyone she meets. If I was a powermad would-be monarch I'd just settle for beheadings, and then burn the bodies. Leaving them hanging around like this is just _asking _for demons to possess them. You'd think a mage would know better. Unless that's her plan. In which case it's a Maker-awful plan. This is why I hate blood mages."

Maxwell let out a disgusted grunt at Hawke's joking tone and led his horse away from the tree, and past a pair of Tantervale soldiers carrying a corpse between them to the hastily constructed bonfire.

Despite Hawke's insistence that the Queen was a blood mage, the Coalition's army didn't actually know all that much about her, let alone if she possessed magic or not. What information they did have on the Queen, brought by Inquisition Agents, was few, was not particularly useful. She was in her mid-twenties. Her skin color was dark tan, suggesting a Rivaini heritage. They also noted that she had beautiful, and delicate features, a trait found in many so called 'Elf-Blooded' humans.

'Only in the Free Marches, oft called the melting pot of Thedas, could one find an elf-blooded Rivaini woman.' Maxwell thought to himself. Of course, this was all speculation, and all of it was utterly useless. She could be purple skinned with green hair for all he cared, but they still didn't know anything important about _her_, specifically.

Was she a mage? Was she a blood mage? An abomination? If she was a mage, then how advanced were her powers? Of these things, the Inquisition's usually efficient and competent network of spies could discover nothing.

They didn't even know her name.

That being said, Maxwell's spies had far greater success in delivering information about her army.

It was an army in name only; a mob of ill equipped, ill supplied, and barely trained rabble. They were fanatics, acting as if drugged most hours of the day, and there was no clear chain-of-command. A select few answered to the Queen directly, and they in turn directed the mob against her enemies. Inquisition Agents had assassinated a number of these officers in order to disrupt the Queen's forces. The result worked out better than any of them had hoped.

In response to the deaths of her captains, the Queen had ordered death matches among the most qualified -and that term was used loosely- candidates. Last ones standing got the job. And while she was occupied replacing her dead officers, the Inquisition continued to sabotage her army; poisoned water here, tents going up in flames there, and random murders among the camps worked wonders in fracturing an already disorganized mass.

It was the mercenary companies that she paid in stolen coin that were the true threat. They were professional soldiers, veterans of many conflicts between the volatile Marcher City-States, and more than a few had used the chaos of the Mage Rebellion to recruit apostates into their ranks. The largest of these mercenary bands, the "Maferath's Bastards," were rumored to have fifteen mages in their company.

They were, however, mercenaries, and if they could be offered a better deal...

"You know," Hawke said, following Maxwell close behind and interrupting the Inquisitor's thoughts, "You should give an inspirational speech to the men soon, preferably before they go into battle. It may restore lost morale."

"You're right." Maxwell replied, though he was reluctant to give Hawke the pleasure. The Champion-turned Viscount was nearly insufferable already; the last thing he needed was Inquisitor Maxwell telling him that he was right. That being said, Hawke did have a point. An inspirational speech coming from the famed Herald of Andraste would do wonders for morale.

He'd have to make three speeches, however.

One for the near future, one for before the battle against the Queen, and one for when they _win _that battle.

* * *

_Western Ferelden, near the Frostback Mountains_

"-and then Hawke says, 'It looks like the Duke has fallen from grace.'"

Elia, along with Rhaenys and Kieran, laughed out loud at that. It had been three days since they left Highever, and the convoy was making good time in getting to Skyhold. Elia was initially wary of Varric, but the storyteller had brought down her barriers with his charm, and wit, mostly by delighting her and her children with fantastical stories from his time in Kirkwall.

She was still suspicious of Kieran, but never showed it. Rhaenys, on the other hand, adored him, and when the caravan would stop for the night at an inn or make camp, he would entertain her daughter by performing small magic tricks. Elia would tolerate Kieran, for Rhaenys' sake. Few things had made her daughter smile this much since their flight from Westeros began.

They were all in the carriage still, but it was getting dark, and the convoy would be making camp soon.

"He really said that?" Kieran asked, wiping away a tear in his eye.

"Of course he did!" Varric said, a jovial smile on his face, "There are some things that not even _I_ can make up."

"Tell me Varric, " Elia asked, "From what you tell me, you almost never leave Kirkwall. What brings you all the way here to Ferelden?"

Varric clasped his hands together, "The reason I'm here, Your Grace, is to become better acquainted with Flashy's father." he said, jabbing a thumb in Kieran's direction.

Kieran narrowed his eyes, "I'm Flashy? That's my nickname?"

Varric shrugged, "You come off as a Flashy to me, what with all the light shows you give to the little princess over here. If I come up with a better nickname for you, you'll be the first to know.

"Back to why I'm here though, I'm to get to know Warden-Commander Cousland better. Get inside his head, understand how he thinks. Let me tell you, it's a bit of a challenge. The man almost never speaks."

"Why though?" Elia interrupted, "Why do you need to get to know him?"

"To research my next book of course." Varric said matter-of-factly.

"Oh? You'll be writing a book on him?" Elia asked.

"Not exactly." Varric replied, "Pretty much every so called Ferelden author has already written a book on The Warden. If I just wrote a story on him, it'd be nothing special. Better written, maybe, but nothing special. No, I have something _much _bigger planned."

Elia, now intrigued, leaned forward, "Really now? Tell me more."

"I've had the privilege of knowing several of the most important figures in recent history," Varric explained, "I've already told you about Hawke, and we have a mutual friend in his Inquisitorialness, Maxy Trevelyan, and I've written books on both of them. But I only know _of _The Warden, who's been doing big and important things years before Hawke and Maxy entered the history books, and The Warden didn't know me. Now, that itself is just a crime against the universe that needed correcting, but like I said, I'm a storyteller, and a businessman, so I have an ulterior motive behind my altruism." he said in a jokingly arrogant tone.

"Now imagine, if you would, a book that had the Hero of Ferelden, the Champion of Kirkwall, _and _the Herald of Andraste, all together, fighting some unspeakable evil from beyond the known world! It'd be an instant hit, the Thedosian equivalent of your Princess Nymeria, Bran the Builder, Garth Greenhand, and Lann the Clever all on an adventure together, except those three are still alive! The fortune I'd make off of it would be icing on the cake."

Elia blinked, "You know of Westerosi from the Age of Heroes?" she asked.

Varric nodded, "You didn't think Westeros was the only continent benefiting from the Inquisition's trade did you? About a year back I got my hands on a collection of Westerosi books concerning your Age of Heroes. It's great stuff, and I don't just say that about any story. Who knows, maybe Maxy will let me sell my serials in your homeland. I'd be the first author in Thedosian history to be published across multiple continents!"

Elia blinked, suddenly remembering something, "Who is the Herald of Andraste?"

Varric looked taken aback, "The Herald of Andraste is Maxy. That's one of his titles, and some would say his _most _important title. He never told you?"

Elia was about to shake her head when she heard screaming from the front of the convoy.

"Archers! It's an ambush! We're under attack!"

* * *

Cousland quickly raised his shield, blocking an arrow that would have skewered him in the face. The convoy was in a forest, it was getting dark, visibility was becoming poor, and for all he knew, they were surrounded. One of his Wardens was knocked off her horse by an arrow, and he didn't know if she was alive or dead.

He scanned the trees, and saw men in armor emerging from them, some on foot, others on horseback, all with weapons raised high, running towards the convoy.

"Wardens!" he yelled, "Repel the attack! Show them why we are feared!"

He charged forward on his horse and struck at a mace wielding woman on foot, taking her head clean off. Cousland blocked a sword blow from a mounted attacked with his shield before lashing out and knocking his attacker off his horse, before trampling the unlucky man underneath his Charger's hooves.

Couslands raced back towards the convoy, towards the carriage. He saw his Warden putting up a more than decent fight; Nathaniel's arrows found their marks, and Oghren was cleaving men and women in half with his axe while his war nug pummeled them with it's giant fists.

'Kieran!" he called out, "Defend the Princess with your magic! Varric, stay inside the carriage. We'll handle things out here!"

"Kill the Wardens!" Cousland somehow heard over the roar of battle, "Avenge General Mac Tir! For Loghain!"

It had been ages since Cousland had heard the traitor Loghain's name spoken aloud, let alone as a battle cry. He cast his gaze towards the direction the voice came from. Though it was dark, he saw her. A women in large plate armor upon a horse, wielding a greatsword.

He recognized her instantly; though she was older now, she was the same woman who was Loghain's most trusted lieutenant, the women who had thrown Cousland into Fort Drakon's dungeons... and the women who stood aside so that he could face Loghain in the Landsmeet, but not before she begged him to show mercy to the man who had abandoned his king to the Darkspawn, thrown Ferelden into civil war, sold city elves as slaves to _Tevinter_, declared Cousland and his brother Warden traitors and murderers, and, worst of all, took the murderer and betrayer of House Cousland into his confidence, and made this man his ally!

Now she was here, more than decade later, to avenge her unworthy Lord, out of misplaced loyalty.

"_Cauthrien_..." Cousland growled.


	9. Chapter 9

Aedan Cousland, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, maneuvered his horse through the fighting, avoiding those brigands on foot that carried long spears, which would skewer both him _and _his horse. The fighting had only started a few minutes ago, but it seemed like hours, and it was getting darker.

An arrow whized by his face, missing Cousland's head by a hair. He cursed under his breath as he raised his heartwood shield to cover his face; just in time to block another arrow.

He brought down his shield and swung his sword at a passing brigand who was carrying a sword and shield. The blade cut deep into her face, crushing her nose and breaking bone. The force of his swing, coupled with the momentum of his horse broke the brigand's neck and knocked her off her feet.

Two more brigands on horseback, riding side by side, charged to meet Cousland, each carrying a spear, aimed directly for his heart. An arrow, shot from the Warden lines, hit the rider on the right in his exposed throat, while another arrow hit the rider on the left directly between his eyes. Nathaniel's handiwork no doubt.

As far as Cousland could tell, and apart from the few that were killed by arrows from the brigands initial ambush, only the brigands were suffering casualties. For a career military woman, Cauthrien was doing an incredibly poor job of directing her forces.

Cousland looked out at where Cauthrien was seated on her horse; if he killed her, then maybe the rest of Loghain's would be avengers might fall back, or even scatter without their leader to direct them. With the exception of a mere handful, none of the brigands came across as experienced soldiers, let alone the veteran warriors that Loghain had Cauthrien lead during the Civil War.

This didn't make any sense, Cousland thought to himself. Cauthrien was extremely loyal to Teyrn Loghain, yes, but in the end, her loyalty to Ferelden was greater, and upon being convinced that her Lord's actions brought only harm to Ferelden, she had allowed Cousland to remove the self proclaimed Regent from power... but not before requesting that Cousland spare Loghain.

Cousland ignored her pleas, and took Loghain's head. No doubt she had mourned her dead Lord, as did many Gwareners, who remembered when Loghain was the great "Hero of the River Dane." In the following years since the Fifth Blight, many of Loghain's supporters and followers were ostracized from Ferelden society, with soldiers blacklisted from promotion, assigned to horrible postings, and some noble families, the Howes being the most prominent, had their lands and titles revoked.

Many were bitter at Alistair Therin's new regime, as well as bitter at Cousland for killing Loghain to begin with. Cousland had dealt with several such men and women over the years, but none had the gall to try to actually _kill _him... most of the time.

Why? Why would Cauthrien try to take vengeance for Loghain now, almost than ten and a half years after the deed had been done? How did she find this many similarly bitter men and women?

One thing, however, stood out most of all:

What were the chances that she would try to kill him when he was transporting Princess Elia and her children to Skyhold?

He wasn't her target at all.

The Targaryen Royals were.

Why though, and why the false pretenses of taking vengeance for Loghain?

Cousland knocked another brigand down to the ground with his sword, and then directed his horse to trample the hapless man. The question of why Cauthrien, or more likely, whomever sent Cauthrien in the first place, wanted to kill or capture the Targaryen children was a mystery, but it was no matter;

He would ask Cauthrien before he killed her.

* * *

"Let me tell you Flashy, out of all the things to attack us on this trip, I didn't expect it to be a bunch of Loghain fantaics!" Varric Tethras said from the carriage as he shot bolt after bolt at the trees where the brigands were emerging.

"Who were you expecting?" Kieran yelled, using his staff to parry blows from a man with an axe. The man was huge, with arms as big as Kieran's (admittedly slim) waist, but lightly armored.

Kieran assumed that he wasn't fireproof though.

The boy mage leaped backwards a few feet before launching a fireball from his staff head, engulfing the man's torso in flames.

Kieran had assumed correctly.

"Oh, the usual assortment of brigands, bandits, highwaymen, out of work mercenaries, the odd Avaar tribe or, since we're surrounded by Grey Wardens, darkspawn." Varric fired Brianca at an unlucky brigand who had stuck his head out from behind the tree, nailing the poor sod between the eyes, "But bitter men and women looking for revenge works just as well for a story." Varric said with a smile.

The dwarf looked back into the carriage at Elia and her children, "How you holding up Princess?" he asked.

"Well we're not dead yet!" Elia yelled as she covered her children with her own body, "Just kill them all before they can reach us!"

"Your wish is my command Your Grace!" Varric replied.

Kieran launched a lightning bolt from his staff and struck another brigand in the chest, killing her instantly. With his sharp eyes he scanned the treeline: by his count nearly a dozen men and women hid behind the trees, possibly more, and many carried a bow. The carriage, and it's passengers, were extremely vulnerable to attack by fire arrows.

Luckily, Kieran knew a spell to deal with projectiles.

He let loose a half dozen blasts of fade energy into the treeline. The blasts impacted against trees, the ground, and a few brigands, and exploded in a great fireball of blinding light.

It wouldn't kill any of the brigands, but it would be more than enough to massively disorient them while Kieran prepared his spell.

Kieran stabbed his staff into the ground, then reached down to his belt, and unhooked a flask which hung to it. He unscrewed the top, and drained it's contents down his throat. It is lyrium, the fuel which mages used to power their more potent spells. Kieran was no exception, and the spell he intended to cast would be draining.

He grabbed his staff and started pouring power through it. Within seconds the staff was glowing with dark blue energy. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the brigand archers poking their heads out from behind the trees, notching their arrows; they had recovered sooner than he expected.

Kieran collapsed to his knees; the effort of the spell took it's toll on his body. He looked to see a brigand walk up to the barrier and place her hand on it's shimmering surface. With a little force, her hand passed through it.

Kieran snarled; he could only put up a barrier strong enough to stop small thing, like projectiles, from entering, but anything larger than a small bird would be able to pass through with minimal effort.

With a malicious smirk, the brigand stepped through the barrier and drew her sword. Kieran weakly aimed his staff at her, ready to let loose a spell-

TWANG!

\- a bolt hit the brigand in between the eyes, dropping her like a rock.

"I must say Flashy." Varric said as he reloaded Bianca, "That is some impressive magic. Of course, it would be a little more impressive if it actually kept everything out. Just saying."

"I'm fourteen," Kieran grumbled, reaching to his belt for another lyrium potion, "What more do you want from me?" After several gulps he fastened the potion back to his belt and grabbed a different flask, this one containing the brew known commonly as a 'stamina potion.' He took a few sips from the bitter concoction before standing up.

"I'm going to deal with those still hiding in the trees. Protect the Princess." he said to Varric.

Kieran took a few steps forward before an explosion of purple smoke and lightning engulfed his body. Not a second later then a large raven flew out of the cloud and through the barrier. The archers fired their arrows at the bird, but between the growing darkness of night and the raven's own maneuverability they all missed.

The raven was within spitting distance of the brigand archers when there was another flash of purple smoke, but this time a huge red cat leaped out of it, pouncing on a brigand and latching onto his throat with it's huge teeth, snapping the unfortunate man's neck before they even hit the ground.

The cat released the fresh corpse and slashed another brigand across her face with it's large claws. The cat then pounced on another man, milky white teeth bared and razor sharp claws flashing.

* * *

Cousland blocked an axe blow with his shield before swinging his blade down and severing the brigand's weapon arm from his body, then decapitating him with a single swing.

Cousland's horse reared back to avoid a brigand's spear, but went too far and he fell off the saddle, crashing to the ground with a loud clanging of his armor, dropping his sword as well.

Cousland was barely on his knees when the spearman attempted to run him through. Cousland threw his shield aside, grabbed the spear with both gauntleted hands, and with all his might lifted it up, using the brigand's own momentum to launch the would be skewerer into the air, where he landed with a grunt and curse. Cousland got to his feet and ran over to the brigand, who was in the process of standing up, and then running him through the gut, pulling out, and then leaving the poor bastard to bleed out on the ground.

Cousland heard the sound of a charging horse coming from behind him. A quick turn of his head confirmed that it was Cauthrien, her greatsword drawn, charging her horse down the road towards him.

He raised the spear and hastily aimed it at her horse. After a few seconds of aiming Cousland then threw it at his target. It struck the horse in the chest, causing it to stumble and fall, tumbling to the ground in a loud crash, bringing it's rider with it.

Cousland let out a whoop of victory, but then noticed that the horse's momentum was still carrying it down the path.

Directly where he was no standing.

Adrenaline rushing through his body, Cousland threw himself out of the way of the incoming mass, landing hard on the ground, accompanied by a loud clang of his armor, arms covering his head.

After a few second he looked up; the horse's dead body had finally stopped. Underneath the animal was Cauthrien. It was extremely unlikely that she had survived the fall. A pity. Cousland would have liked to have interrogated her.

He stood up, dusted himself off, and walked over to where his discarded sword and shield had landed, picked them both up, returned his blade to it's scabbard, and strapped his shield to his back.

He then look around and saw his horse; thankfully it hadn't wandered off, as horses are wont to do. With his body aching, Cousland made his way to his horse, and grabbed it's reins. Cauthrien was dead, but the brigands didn't know that yet. Once presented with their leader's head, they would no doubt turn and flee.

A hand grabbed the back of his collar and, with great strength, threw him back away from his horse.

Ignoring the pain, Cousland looked up to see who had thrown him;

It was Cauthrien. Somehow the woman was still alive, despite what had happened to her and her horse.

Cousland recovered quickly, getting to his feet and drawing his sword. Cauthrien advanced slowly, greatsword held in both hands. Upon a closer look Cousland saw that she was not undamaged.

Her armor had dozens of dents in the metal, and her leg was bent at an unnatural angle. Most shocking of all though was her neck; with every step Cauthrien took, her head moved as if her neck was broken.

"What in the Maker's name are you?" Cousland growled.

Cauthrien said nothing, but raised her greatsword and swung it down on Cousland. He in turn brought his sword up to block the swing, and was forced to his knees by the force of the blow.

Cousland was shocked. While a great warrior, Cauthrien was never this strong.

Cousland grunted, and tried to push her sword back back, but Cauthrien's inhuman strength kept him in check. Her leg then snapped back into place of it's own accord, along with her neck.

Whatever Cauthrien was, she was no longer human.

She then broke the deadlock by lifting her greatsword up again, then swinging it back down just as quickly. Again and again she did this, and Cousland was amazed that his bones were not yet broken from the force she poured into each of her blows.

His salvation came from two flashes of silver struck Cauthrien's eyes, and sprayed blood everywhere.

Cauthrien stumbled back, one hand grasping at her face. Cousland took the opportunity to strike her in the chest with his sword. Her armor prevented him from getting at her flesh, but it was enough to knock her back and give Cousland some much needed breathing room.

"She is not there."

Cousland look to his right and saw a young man dressed in odd clothes, with a wide brimmed hat on his head, and wielding two finely crafted daggers.

"Who are you boy?" Cousland demanded as he grabbed his shield. He turned to look at him, and Cousland could see the boy's sickly face.

"I am Cole." he answered, "And I am here to help."

Cauthrien finally lowered her hand from her face, and despite blood running down her face like tears, there were no obvious wounds.

"What is she, an abomination?" Cousland asked as he raised his sword and shield.

"No, while magic is there the Fade does not dwell within her. She has no thoughts, no feelings, nothing that makes her _her_." Cole said as he readied his daggers. Only commands. 'Slay everyone. Pay the men. Convince the Gwareners. **Be **Cauthrien.'

"Only not everyone is convinced." Cole continued, "They see through your false realness, and master must persuade them with his spells. Only a few rise to avenge Loghain, so other must be bought. Not ideal, but more than enough for a handful of Wardens."

Cole looked Cauthrien in the yes, "Except you and your Master were wrong. We will triumph, and you will fail. It will be Cauthrien who will be avenged."

For a brief moment, Cousland saw something flash in Cauthrien's eyes:

Rage.

Cauthrien raised her sword and charged at Cole, swinging at him, but the boy was far too nimble to be hit. With a flurry of dagger strikes he cut as her skin. Not wanting to be outdone, Cousland joined in on the attack, swinging his sword and hacking at her weak points.

"Any ideas on how to kill her?" Cousland called out as he blocked a blow with his shield.

Cole cut her cheek with his left dagger, only to dodge a moment later in order to avoid another swing of the greatsword.

"Decapitation always seems to work out." he replied, "She isn't even wearing a helmet."

Cole ducked as another swing came his way, and then ran up close to Cauthrien before stabbing her left knee knee and armpit. While her face was a picture of agony, nothing escaped her mouth, even as she fell to her knees.

Cousland charged her, sword raised for a decapitation strike, and while Cauthrien attempted to raise her greatsword Cole stabbed her in the other armpit, making her drop her sword altogether.

Cousland swung his blade, and it found it's mark. In a single swift motion, Cauthrien's head had been liberated from her shoulders. It bounced once, and then fell to the ground unceremoniously, her face locked in a expressionless position. Her armored body crumpled to the ground.

Cousland himself fell to his knees, attempting to catch his breath. It would have to be a short break. No doubt the other brigands were still attacking his wardens, but they may stop their assault (or at least falter) when they saw Cauthrien's (or at least whatever she had become) head.

As he looked up, he saw Cole holding Cauthrien's head between his hands, gazing intently at the stump of her neck.

Cole walked over to Cousland and held out Cauthrien's head.

"There is no flesh."

Cousland looked at Cauthrien's stump, and saw, to his shock and horror, that where there should have been muscle and sinew was something else entirely.

Instead, behind the skin was a grey substance. Cousland poked it, and to his disgust discovered that it had the consistency of raw dough, and when he put pressure on it, blood emerged from it like a sponge releasing water.

"What happened to her?" Cousland said, mouth agape. Cole shook his head.

"I do not know. A question for another day perhaps. Right now though there are things that must be done."

Cousland shook off his shock, nodded, and took Cauthrien's head from Cole.

This skirmish needed to end.

* * *

It was three hours later, and the fighting was over.

Now, it was time to pick up the pieces.

Cousland was only mostly right: upon showing the brigands the head of Cauthrien, most had surrendered. A few die hards, however, continued to fight, and needed to be put down.

At the end of it all, the brigands had thirty-four dead among their number, with a thirteen wounded, and twelve taken prisoner. The Grey Wardens had three dead, and four wounded to varying degrees.

Elia has volunteered to help treat the wounded by candlelight at the makeshift medical tent that had been hastily constructed after the fighting, while her children remained in the carriage with a tired Kieran and Varric. While she wasn't the most adept healer, she did have a basic understanding of how to clean and dress wounds (an understanding that came from years of having _Oberyn Martell_ as a brother, and all the misadventures that had come of such a relationship).

For for the most part, she followed the direction of the Warden's more skilled healer, a gruff, tattooed, and bearded elf named Henry Hard-Toes, whom apparently, was a former pirate. He had a filthy vocabulary, reeked of garlic, little patience, and couldn't care less about her royal title, and had her doing most of the grunt work, fetching clean bandages, medicines, as well as health potions.

A few months ago, Elia might had taken offense at this blatant lack of respect. Now however, she was willing to do whatever it took to help her children, and if that meant taking orders from a crotchety, hard swearing elf, then so be it.

"Oi, Princess!" Henry called out as he had just removed an arrow from a screaming brigand, "Take this damned thing and put it in the pile with the others. I'll take them back to Nathaniel later. And tell that blighting dwarf to stop picking at his bandages, he'll only make it worse!"

"Yeah, well you tell that sodding elf that I wasn't picking it!" Oghren yelled at Elia, lowering his right hand from his bandaged left arm.

"You damn were too you short bastard!" Henry yelled as he began dressing the brigand, "I saw you doing it! I'm not blind ya little-"

Elia ignored the shouting and simply took the arrow, before depositing it at a pile of arrows.

She heard Henry about to shout again when a loud noise, like the beating of wings, drowned out all other sounds, save for the shouting that had followed . She opened the flaps of the tent to see what the commotion was.

Despite the darkness, she froze when she saw _it_.

It was a dragon. Huge in size, wings that could cover the carriage in shadows, teeth like swords and claws like spears.

She had seen the skulls of the Targaryen dragons hanging on display in the Red Keep, and had heard many tales of their great power. As far as the world was concerned though, the dragons had all died out shortly after the Dance.

Yet here one was, large, proud, and no doubt very dangerous.

Then the dragon was engulfed in a vortex of orange flames, in the silhouette of a dragon's body. After five seconds the bright lights disappeared, and in the dragon's place was a human sized figure, still glowing, but the lights dimmed quickly.

The figure was a mature woman, black haired, and dressed in an outfit that left very little to the imagination. She held in her hands a rough staff, with various fetishes hanging from it's tip, which seemed to be made out of animal bone.

The women looked directly at Elia, and despite the darkness, Elia could see the woman's bright and stunning gold eyes.

The woman smiled at Elia and turned her head, walking towards the camp as the Wardens parted before her. Clearly they knew better than to block her path.

Elia was amazed; she had heard tales of skinchangers before as a child but to see one in person, and the ability to turn into a _dragon _at that?

If only she could bring such powers to Westeros. Her children's birthright would become more than just a distant dream.

It would become a very real possibility.

* * *

Cousland was sitting down on a chair in his personal tent, cleaning his sword. He had just finished interrogating some of the captured brigands.

WHile a handful of them had been Loghain supporters seeking misplaced vengeance for their long dead Lord, most of them were just mercenaries, cheap mercenaries at that, little better than street thugs, paid to attack them, and to _pretend _that they sought to avenge Loghain as well.

The how and whys of it all apparently died with Cauthrien. No matter. He would bring the matter to his old friend Leliana, the Inquisition's spymaster, when they reached Skyhold. If anyone could ferret out the truth from all this, it would be her.

He then heard the beating of the wings from a high dragon outside, followed by the inevitable yells of surprise.

Cousland, however, was not surprised. On the contrary, he had been expecting this dragon.

Or to be more accurate, the person who had shape shifted into a dragon.

The flap of his tent opened up to reveal the newcomer, carrying her signature staff, and dressed in her familiar clothes.

"Well, well, well." Morrigan said, "What have we here? A victorious warrior, or an old Grey Warden?"

"Hello to you as well beloved." Cousland said as he set his sword aside, "What brings you here, away from you research in the Dales?"

"I'm here to check up on my men." Morrigan answered, leaning her staff against a tent post, "I sensed you in trouble, on a journey that you assured me would be of minimal risk, and I just happened to be flying over the Frostbacks at the time, so I decided to see how you fared."

"I thank you for you concern." Cousland replied, smirking, as he stood up and brought Morrigan into an embrace and a long kiss.

"I don't know about you beloved," Cousland said softly, 'But I tire of sleeping alone. Do you feel the same?"

Before Morrigan could answer (and before they could become more _intimate_), the tent flaps were opened again, revealing Kieran, an overjoyed expression on his face.

"Mother! You're here!"

Morrigan smiled as she pulled away from Cousland and hugged her son.

"Of course I am here my darling boy. I'd never miss up a chance to evaluate how your magical abilities are progressing."

Cousland sighed before grinning wearily. It seems that he would have to sleep alone tonight after all

* * *

"Mother look! Look at that!"

Elia, holding baby Aegon, gazed out the carriage's window, and in the direction that Rhaenys was pointing.

It was a castle, made of grey stone, which rested on top of a mountain. On one peak there was a huge tower, with a stone bridge that led to the rest of the fortress. There were a half dozen towers, and huge keep. It's location reminded Elia of descriptions It flew the sunburst eye and flaming sword banners of Maxwell's Inquisition.

Varric Tethras smiled, "There it is Princess, headquarters of the great and powerful Inquisition; Skyhold. That expression on you face? I had that same one when I first saw it too."

Elia took in the sight. Skyhold was more than just a fortress to her.

After months of travel, first at sea, then on the road, she, Rhaenys, Aegon, and even little Balerion, could finally stop running.

Skyhold was her journey's destination. They had made it. They would be safe.

Most of all, it would be from Skyhold where the journey to retake Westeros would truly begin.

* * *

Author's note:

Sorry for the long wait between updates guys, but for those who know me from my other fics, I am a notorious procrastinator.

Also, if this chapter seems a bit choppy, or something, then I apologize: writing fight scenes is not really my strong point. Though, to be honest really, no part of writing is my strong point.

Anywhos, all that needs to be wrapped up is the war in the Free Marches, and we can finally exit this everlasting prologue this story is in, and move on to our _real _main characters, Aegon and Rhaenys.

I thank you all for you feedback and patience.


	10. April Fools

Skyhold, April 1st

Maxwell: Alright then kids, if you're going to become protagonists in a Bioware crossover, then there's a few things you need to know. Are you listening?

Aegon + Rhaenys: Yes Inquisitor!

Maxwell: Good, now first off, you need to pick your race, and your gender, followed by class.

Aegon: Wait what now?

Maxwell: While I'm a male human warrior, in another life I could have been female qunari mage. Or an elven archer.

Rhaenys: What about a dwarf?

Awkward silence.

All Three: Uncontrollable laughter

Rhaenys: Sorry, I couldn't resist!

Aegon: Wait, aren't we being offensive to all the players who choose dwarves as their first choice, and/or main?

Maxwell: Yes. Yes we are. To all 2% of them.

Rhaenys: Wow, that's a low number.

Maxwell: Indeed it is. Now then, since each of you are already a pre-established character, your race and sex have already been set in stone, but not your class. You can either be a warrior, or a rogue.

Rhaenys: No mage?

Maxwell: Nope, Westerosi like yourself can't become mages, or at least not _Thedosian _mages.

Aegon: Crap, that means we're dwarves.

Maxwell: Yup, only you don't get the nifty magical resistance that comes with the inability to cast magic. Though we are getting off topic. Choose your classes, and while you're at it, your specializations!

Rhaenys: I'll be a rogue, with a bard specialization.

Maxwell: Interesting, why Bard?

Rhaenys: Well, I'm going to be operating in a court setting, so those skills will be crucial to my survival. Also, Orlais is in spitting distance, and I grew up with a bunch of masters of 'the Game.' It'd be weird if I _wasn't _a bard.

Maxwell: An excellent choice Rhaenys. Now, your turn Aegon.

Aegon: I'm going to be a warrior, as befitting of my heritage and bloodline. As for my specializations, I choose Champion, with a Templar secondary specialization.

Maxwell: Templar? Would you care to explain why?

Aegon: Well, you did 'Champions of the Just,' so there's a lot of Templars around Skyhold. Also, I may or may not be Andrastian, which if I am, will cause _all sorts_ of issues for me when I return to Westeros.

Maxwell: _If_, not when. Alright, so with character creation (as it is) out of the way, no we go on to party building! You'll need at least two warriors, two mages, and two rogues, with a couple of extra spaces for any additional companions. Also, you'll need a dog.

Rhaenys: Why a dog?

Maxwell: for the token non-humanoid part member of course! Every Dragon Age game has a dog.

Aegon: Yours didn't.

Maxwell: _Yes Aegon. I know. Don't rub it in.  
_  
Aegon: Sorry.

Maxwell: Now then, these party members will be a diverse crowd, each one having differing views on life, politics, and right and wrong. They will also be from various races, and you must recruit them one by one after completing a side quest.

Rhaenys: Wait, you're the leader of the Inquisition right?

Maxell: Yes.

Rhaenys: So instead of recruiting these people one by one while traveling all over the goddamn world, why don't you just send us out with a full party of Inquisition Agents? Surely that's better than throwing us to the wolves undermanned.

Maxwell: Nope, you need to recruit yourself a full party on you own, otherwise it'll be too simple. That's also why you'll only take a few hundred coins between you, and the most common of weapons and armor.

Aegon: You're sending us out with what?

Maxwell: You heard me, only the most common of armor and weapons, barely better than those of your enemies, and only a few hundred coins, so you won't be able to simply buy the whole party equipment that's leagues better than what you're currently using.

Aegon: But you're the Inquisitor! You have the funds and equipment to make sure we accomplish our quest easily! The highest quality armor, and legendary blades! Not to mention you can afford to fund huge armies! Surely giving us more than a couple hundred won't even make a small dent in the treasury?

Maxwell: Yes, but that will make things too simple. We wouldn't want that now would we? That's also why you start out with only one skill.

Rhaenys: But we've spent years training to master our respective classes! Why would we know only one skill? And please don't say-

Maxwell + Rhaenys: That would make things too easy, and we don't want that, do we?

Rhaenys: Old Gods and New damn it.

Maxwell: Look, if you kids want better loot and more money, then you need to find it yourself. Chances are it'll be at the bottom of a dungeon, filled with a ton of enemies, or being carried by wild animals, who should have no business carrying loot. That's how I found my trademark helmet; in the belly of a high dragon!

Rhaenys: Gross.

Maxwell: Also, you're now both bisexual.

Aegon: Bisexual? How'd that happen?

Maxwell: You are by the very fact that the dialogue wheel gives you the option to flirt with companions of either gender. Though you'll only have sex once, and usually before the final battle/quest/etc.

Rhaenys: Do we have to flirt with our companions? It seems as if it would make for an awkward working relationship.

Maxwell: You don't have too, but they're the only people you get to flirt with. Unless you want to shell out a few coins to sleep with prostitutes. Or so I've heard. I don't actually get to sleep with prostitutes.

Aegon: So our options are either people we work with, or people we pay? Isn't there some middle ground for our love interests?

Maxwell: Nope, only those two. What do you think this is? The Witcher? Kids these days.

Aegon: Sigh.

Maxwell: Also, one of your party members may be someone you knew from years ago, and they may now have a new sexual orientation now, or will be romantically interested in you, even if there was no inclination that they were before. For example, Exhibit A, and Exhibit B for the former, and Exhibit C, and Exhibit D for the latter.

Rhaenys: Well that's inconsistent, as well as completely out of the blue. I mean, unless you went datamining through cut, unused dialogue.

Maxwell: Which brings me to my next point: A party member can be forgiven for just about anything provided they're pretty enough. I mean, just look at Anders. He blew up a Chantry, and started a war, which through a series of events, led to Corypheus almost taking over the world. But his fangirls still forgive him for it. Why? Because he's pretty.

Rhaenys: Meh, five out of ten if you ask me. I don't go for men with ponytails, or who have a scruffy look going on.

Aegon: You know, after everything we've just said, I don't think I want to be a Bioware protagonist now.

Maxwell: Well you don't have to be. A Bioware protagonist is just one of two options that you can choose from.

Aegon: What's the other?

Maxwell: A Game of Thrones protagonist!

Aegon: What happens to them?

Maxwell: Well, there's a much better chance of you getting laid, multiple times, and before the final battle at that.

Aegon: Well I'm sold!

Rhaenys: Wait. What's the downside?

Maxwell: You can end up beheaded, shot with an arrow, stabbed in the back by a demon shadow baby, castrated, raped, super raped, reanimated into an ice zombie, betrayed by the people you trust, stabbed in your pregnant belly, flayed alive, fed to dogs, burned, burned by dragons, drowning, snapped neck, head smashed in, and general sword wounds.

...

...

...

Aegon: I think I'll stick with being a Bioware protagonist.

Rhaenys: Same here.

Maxwell: Smart choice. Now then, while you can't get super awesome weapons and armor off the bat, I am willing to give you access to Skyhold's armory.

Aegon: Finally some good news. After years of adventuring, there should be good stuff in there!

Rhaenys: Or at least stuff that's better than common armor and weapons.

Maxwell: You would _think _that would be the case, and in most cases, you'd be right. However...

* * *

Happy April 1st!


End file.
